Plastic Constellation
by Laimielle
Summary: There's nothing wrong with setting everything I've ever cared about aflame. There's no shame in giving up. And, certainly, gazing up at the stars for solace won't leave a single stain on my pride, I'm sure. HikaruxKaoru.
1. Stars

_****_

Disclaimer, warnings, and author's notes...

- I don't own Ouran High School Host Club, nor am I affiliated with any of the talented artists or writers that have made it come to life.  
- There will be OOC-ness, yaoi, and mature themes, probably. Wait, no…not 'probably'. I'm actually quite sure of it.  
- Anything that is italic (except for emphasis) is either a memory or someone directing their thoughts to another character.

* * *

_O __n_ e

_- Stars -_

When I'm truly afraid, I don't retreat to his room. I do that only when I feel the foreboding of another nightmarish sleep. I know that being in the same bed as my brother will guarantee protection against what awaits me in my fitful slumber.

When I forget that I'm followed everywhere with the images that make me never want to sleep again, I go to my own room. And then I wake up, usually long before dawn, and I know that it's too late. I can't go to Hikaru. There's no point, because I know I won't be going back to sleep.

During those nights, I usually do nothing after I've joined reality once again. I simply lay in bed and stare at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling that I haven't bothered to remove.

I know Hikaru hasn't bothered with his stars, either.

I'm beginning to think that laziness isn't the only reason they're still plastered to my ceiling. As babyish as it is, I'm actually comforted by them. I am especially, on nights like these.

I don't know how much longer I'm going to be haunted. I try not to think about it, because I know I won't be left alone for a long time, if ever. I hate being completely in the dark about this. If I knew the catalyst for these night terrors, the cure for this internal illness may not be so thickly veiled.

I try not to dwell on the possibility that there might not be a cure.

I feel like these nightmares have complete authority over me. I hate that, more than anything. I've always greatly detested being controlled by anyone. That doesn't make me domineering, because that isn't in my nature either. I don't know what my nature is.

I hate that I feel so at mercy to the fright that plagues me nearly every night.

I'm unprepared for the loud screeching of my alarm clock. A yelp involuntarily escapes my lips and I blindly reach for the button to silence the sound. I finally find it, after fumbling awkwardly with everything resting on my beside table.

I curse under my breath and try to regulate my spastic heart rate by calming myself. I knead my left wrist with the thumb on my other shaking hand. Massaging the flesh around the veins and feeling my pulse slowly decrease helps. I'm not sure why. I'm aware that it's odd, but I don't care. It makes me feel better, and I'm willing to do anything if it makes me feel better.

This is a habit I've just recently adopted.

I abandon my wrist and grip my pajama-clad chest tightly. It's hurting again. I'm not sure if it's due to the recent stress caused from my nightmares or complications from my past medical issues, but I'm only mildly concerned. The doctors told Mom I would be okay. And so, I conclude that it must be stress.

"Kaoru!"

He's standing in the doorframe, hair mussed and eyes wide. I hadn't even heard him come in, strangely. Lately, I've been much less aware of the things around me.

"What do you want?" I ask, feigning genuine curiosity.

I know why he's here. He had heard the humiliating screech tear through my throat after I'd been startled to a lucid state this morning. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I was anything but discrete about it.

"I heard you yell. Are you okay?" he asks me, sounding slightly breathless. There was once a time when I loved this. I loved how protective he was, and still is. It was always just he and I. I depended on him because our parents were rarely around, and in turn, he depended on my depending on him.

Recently, I've been feeling irrational anger toward him. I know that it's my own perversity giving me the nightmares, but I often times place the blame on him. I hate that about myself, along with so many other things.

"I'm fine." I tell him. I don't mean to snap. It just happens to come out that way. I know it isn't right because he's only displaying the usual concern he has for me. I know that none of this is his fault, but I can't help feeling the way I do. Maybe my hostility toward him is a subconscious effort to distance myself from him.

Well, it isn't so subconscious anymore.

I can see his lips tightening over his teeth in an attempt to stop himself from releasing the bitter words his longs so deeply to spit at me. I know of every one of his little mannerisms and habits, even the ones he doesn't share with me. I know him so well.

_Do it, Hikaru,_ I think to myself. _Let those words be free. It might ease my guilt just a smidge._

Predictably, he says nothing.

I see his eyes trail down to my shaking hand that's still clutching at my aching chest. I'm only reminded of the pain when he becomes aware of it. It was there, just a dull throb as he first started questioning me. The invisible hand strangling my heart never loosened its grip. I had only momentarily forgotten about it.

But I feel it now. I feel it because he can see it, and that makes it so much more real. I wish I knew why.

He doesn't say anything else because he's angry with me. Anything he says and anything I respond with will probably end up escalating in an argument, and I know he doesn't want that.

I watch him walk away, softly padding to his own room in his socked feet.

_I'd never want you to know what you're doing to me._

* * *

"You're failing art, Kaoru." he tells me. Even I'm slightly surprised at this news, myself. I've always loved art. Hikaru knows this, I know this, Mr. Vespasien knows this, and everyone in the Host Club knows this. My passion for expressing my thoughts and feelings through sketching isn't a secret to anyone.

And yet, I'm failing art class.

"I'm sorry." I say, even though I don't feel an ounce of remorse. Before the nightmares and my unhealthy obsession with my brother, I'd never really cared much. Now, I don't care at all. Not once in the past few weeks have I found myself gazing into space and thinking of a new project I could begin working on. I no longer listen to Mr. Vespasien or any of my teachers, for that matter. It shouldn't come as a shock to me that I'm failing this class, and probably all of my others.

"Why haven't you been turning your assignments in?" he asks. His cerulean eyes are burning into mine with such intensity that I find myself unable to speak for a few moments.

This is the first time I've been asked to stay after class by a teacher. It isn't just a coincidence that it's Mr. Vespasien. I'm one of his best students, and that isn't me being vain. It's just a fact. I know that he's puzzled at my sudden lack of participation in class, as anyone probably would be.

"I've been feeling stressed. I guess it's been distracting me from my school work." I tell him. I don't have the energy to come up with a believable lie, so I tell him the partial truth. The words feel foreign in my mouth because everything that leaves my lips is usually a lie. I wouldn't be ashamed of that, either, if it weren't for Hikaru.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about? Are there any problems going on at home?" I almost laugh when I hear this. I knew he'd ask about that.

"No, but thank you for your concern. If I ever need to talk to someone, I know I can go to you." I tell him. Both he and I don't believe that. I'm just being polite.

"Yes. Thanks for speaking with me, Kaoru. Please do what you can to reduce your stress. I'd hate to see your grade in this class plummet anymore than it already has."

I feel an unexpected explosion of animosity for my art teacher. It's so easy for him to say that. I can't do anything to reduce the stress and I'm not planning on working to improve my grade. I don't care. Mr. Vespasien's flippant attitude regarding my sudden change of behavior is infuriating.

I leave the stuffy classroom in a hurry, not wanting to be in the insufferable man's presence anymore.

I don't know why I'm surprised when I see that he's waiting for me outside the door. I should've expected it. He's probably wondering what that private meeting between my art teacher and I was about, naturally. And we always go to the Host Club together. Of course he'd wait for me.

But for some reason, his presence startles me. I feel my heart accelerate and the sight of his lithe form leaning against the wall, like I'm shocked to see my twin waiting for me.

"What was that about?" he asks. I should have prepared myself for that question before I decided to leave the classroom. Of course he'd ask that. It was foolish of me to think otherwise.

"He was concerned about my grades." I answer. I'm still not in the mood to fabricate a lie, even for Hikaru.

He stares at me expectantly, waiting for me to elaborate. I won't, because I know that will incriminate me further. I'm fully aware that I haven't been acting like myself lately, but I've stopped caring about constantly putting on a believable show for everyone.

I know he's glaring behind me even though I can't see it. I can _feel_ it as I walk to the music room. I shudder involuntarily at the sensation of his gaze on me.

"What about your grades? Why would he need to discuss that with you, Kaoru? That's the only class you actually enjoy."

The confusion in his words is so thick, it's almost tangible.

"I haven't been feeling inspired lately. Nothing I sketch seems to have…feeling anymore. I've just been throwing my assignments out. It's no use keeping it if it's trash." I mumble bitterly. This is probably the first time I've told Hikaru the truth about something since my nightmares started.

"That's stupid. I've seen your work. I don't fancy the idea of inflating your ego, but maybe you need to hear this. Everything I've seen that you've drawn has left me in awe. I can't imagine anything of yours being _trash_--"

I interrupt him.

"I've never shown you anything that I was ashamed of, Hikaru, and I never will." I mean this in more ways than one. I'm not just talking about my sketches, and even though I know Hikaru isn't aware of the different meanings of my statement, I feel I need to tell him this. Maybe it's that I'm hoping that if I voice some small truth, a weight will be lifted from my shoulders.

That's just wishful thinking, of course. If anything, I'm feeling worse.

He doesn't say anything, and that's the worst part. He doesn't realize how much of my soul I poured into that last sentence.

We're both silent as we trek to the music room to endure another day of monotonous Host Club activities.

* * *

The moment I feel his hand on my shoulder, any semblance of calm I've accumulated through the day is destroyed. I can almost literally see the last pieces of my sanity crumbling at my feet.

"Kaoru, I was so afraid this morning." he says mellifluously. He lowers himself to my ear, almost touching the flesh. "I thought you were hurt."

_He nips softly at my bottom lip and I can't help but release the lascivious whimper that's been fighting to leave my mouth._

The crowd of girls that's suddenly formed around us feels suffocating to me. They sigh dreamily at his antics.

"You looked so frightened. Did you have a nightmare?" He's squeezing my shoulder comfortingly, like I've already confirmed his suspicions. I involuntarily tense at his words, which gives him the answer he needs. I hate the little self restraint I possess.

_His hands are at my hips, thumbs massaging the flesh stretched tightly over the tender flesh and joints. I don't know why I like this almost more than his saccharine kisses, but I do. Maybe it's because I know his hands are so close to where I want…no, need them to be._

"What was it about?" he whispers softly, his rich voice oozing into my ear. I feel his hand, the one not on my shoulder, cupping the base of my neck. And I feel that constricting sensation in my chest again. "Let me help--"

"Quit it, H-Hikaru." I breathe, unable to find my voice. Our idiot fans don't stop ogling and sighing dramatically like this is the hottest thing they've ever seen, so I know my demand to my brother didn't reach their ears.

I know Hikaru heard it, though, because I feel weight on the back of my neck lessen slightly. He says nothing for a few moments, as if he's stupefied. I'm about to demand that he stop this again because the pain in my chest is beginning to be quite difficult to ignore, but he speaks before I can.

"What's been up with you lately?" he asks. I can tell he's trying to sound irate at the fact that I haven't confided in him about anything, but there's a detectable undertone of concern in his voice.

"This is hardly the place to discuss that." I reply sharply. I roll my shoulders, hoping he'll get the message that I don't want him touching me anymore. He does, fortunately. There's a chorus of disappointed groans from our fans as he steps away from me. They're all oblivious to the small argument we just had, but the rest of the Host Club isn't.

Mori doesn't care, of course, and Hunny appears to have not seen anything. His cake has all of his attention, as usual. Kyoya and Haruhi both look mildly worried that something monumental has just happened, or will happen. Even Tamaki, usually quite oblivious, seems to have picked up on the fact that something between Hikaru and I deviated from the norm. I know that they'll be watching closer than normal now, and that instills a shock of fear through me.

I can't find it in myself to act anymore. I can't be the co-star for this brotherly love act anymore.

There isn't a way out of this problem.

There's no point in looking for a nonexistent solution.

* * *

_Drop a review, if you've got the time. Thanks. :)_


	2. Dizzy

_T __w_ o

_- Dizzy -_

"What is it, Kaoru? What is so appealing about walking home?"

I feel perversely smug at my brother's incredulous tone. He's always able to predict my future actions, but this has obviously come as a surprise to him. I like this feeling of amusement. It's a refreshing change from the combination of negative emotions that's been eating me from the inside lately.

"It's rainy today." I gaze at the sky as I say this, almost longingly. "I like the smell of the air. I don't fancy the idea of depriving myself of it by riding in the car. We're not that far from home, anyway."

He looks at the sky, also, as if the puddles on the ground and the rain drops falling in front of his face isn't accurate proof that it is, indeed, raining.

He meets my gaze and sighs, almost condescendingly.

"Fine. Do what you want. Just keep in mind that you're taking a risk of getting ill…or raped on the way home." he adds the last part in a joking tone, but I can hear the seriousness behind it. That edge to his voice is intended for my ears, I'm certain.

I force my facial muscles to form a sarcastic smile.

"Yeah, I know. I'll be fine." I tell him with confidence I don't possess.

Without warning, he lunges forward and captures me in a tight hug. The air in my lungs leaves in a rush and I feel myself beginning to get lightheaded. His chest is against mine, which is heaving rather rapidly, and his forehead is resting on my collar bone. I can feel his warm breath ghosting over my neck, which makes me shiver violently in his lanky arms.

I don't know if it's the lack of oxygen or his uncomfortably close proximity, but I feel like I could collapse at any moment.

His arms slide off of me and he steps away awkwardly. The cold air stings my skin now that his warmth is absent.

I feel guilty for being the cause of the confusion in his eyes and the embarrassment dusting his cheeks in a light pink color. I ignore the impulse to embrace him and say that I'm sorry for acting so distant lately.

I have to do this. I have to pull away. I don't even want to think about the ramifications if I don't ignore the warnings my nightmares have been providing for me.

"I'll see you at home." I mumble and look the ground shaking at my feet. No one can feel it but me. So I ignore the dizziness swimming in my head, too, because heeding to it would only make it more real.

Because I can see his lips beginning to form the words to a question I'm certain I can't answer, I swiftly walk away before he can speak.

The wind is merciless. Blinded by the rain stinging my eyes, I keep my gaze downward.

I can hear the door to the limo shut not far behind me as Hikaru gets in. I flatten myself against the rough brick of the school so that I won't get sprayed by the shower of water the vehicle picks up on its way to the Hitachiin home. Even if I could, without the rain blinding me, I wouldn't look up on the off chance that I'd catch a glimpse of Hikaru staring back at me.

I might see what I'm breaking.

The dizziness hasn't subsided at all. If anything, it's become worse. It's difficult for me to stay on the sidewalk and out of the street, but I don't pay any attention to it. My ride is gone now, anyway, and even if it weren't, I'd still choose to walk. My safety is at the bottom of my list of priorities.

It was useless, protecting myself against the water that the limo had sprayed toward me. I'm being showered from cars and buses with dirty water. I hate this, and it isn't because I'm getting wet. That doesn't concern me. What I'm irritated at is that I can't do anything to stop from being drenched. Maybe it's the feeling of powerlessness that bothers me. It's a reminder of the lack of control I have over my life.

I can't control my reactions to the feeling of his gaze on me, what I dream of, or what I think of. I can only watch the world move around me, and it's always going too quickly. The feeling of being lost and drowning in all the ugly things the world has to offer puts me in a perpetual state of discontent. It seems like I'm always trying to swim to the surface. It was fine, when Hikaru used to swim with me. But I've been slowing down lately, so rapidly that I'm actually sinking now.

Unfortunately, Hikaru's noticed. That was inevitable, but I'd still hoped he'd let me go. I don't want to pull him with me. I won't let him sink. I care far too much, and that's actually my biggest fault.

When I see the cement barricade lining the eastern side of a lake, I stumble toward it. I'm too focused on breathing normally to be concerned about the cause of my headache and dizziness.

I lean heavily on the cold structure and try to compose myself. I'm starting to feel the unwanted emotion of regret. I could be at home, in bed, under my fleece blanket, _in the same house as Hikaru_.

And just as suddenly as it came, my longing to be home disappears.

My eyes focus on the surface of the lake water, the smoothness of it being disrupted by the rain. It's hardly distinguishable due to my current state, but I can still see it. It has me entranced, for some reason. I focus on this simple thing instead of my splitting headache.

I know I have to get home. Hikaru's expecting me. I can't delay my progress any longer. It's not far, though. I know I can make it.

I loosen my tight, white-knuckled grip on the railing and begin my trek home, doing my best to shift my weight to each foot equally as I stumble forward.

Yes, I _know_ I can make it.

* * *

A fresh-smelling blanket is immediately draped around my quivering shoulders as soon as I step through the walkway. I know it's Hikaru when his vanilla-scented shampoo assaults my nostrils. It's not like I expected it to be anyone else.

He's mumbling something under his breath so quietly that I can't discern what he's saying. He's biting his lip, something he does when he's excited or anxious. Only I know this. We don't share this trait. Unlike my twin, I tend to fidget when I'm nervous, particularly with my wrist.

I don't even try to tune into what he's muttering. Although my vision is beginning to get substantially sharper, my headache hasn't subsided.

I slip my shoes off, not caring that I'm probably getting the floor wet. I do the same with my socks, literally pealing them off because they're soaked. I had stepped in several puddles on my way home.

Hikaru's saying something, but I still can't hear him. I can only hear the silky, tempting voice of my bed, calling my name. I shuffle away from my brother, only vaguely aware of his presence.

The plush carpet feels delightful on my feet. I have to fight the murmurs of pleasure growing in my throat at the sensation of the silken fabric between my toes.

I'm dully aware of myself humming lowly in contentment. When I feel the warmth of his hand at mine, I begin to grow hyperaware of it. I have to make the conscious effort to take my hand away, because my instinct is telling me that this is warmth and I'm cold.

"I…can make it on my…own…" I say, referring to my ability to successfully make it to my room without his assistance. I don't need him, or his warm hand guiding me there.

The way my speech falters irritates me. It feels like my jaw is half frozen and not quite working right. My inadequacy at articulating everything correctly is mildly vexing.

The trip upstairs seems longer than it ever has. I know my feet are dragging, and Hikaru is probably very worried as well as confused, but I physically don't have the energy to feign healthiness right now.

He ascends the stairs with me, and without even looking anywhere but in front of me, I know he's following my awkward figure. I can feel the tempting heat radiating off of his body. I imagine myself falling back, into his arms, where the alluring warmth swells from every part of his body.

I'll never have to worry about being cold again.

This is what I do. I do it because as I walk, the distance between my bedroom and I seems to grow larger. I'm cold, but most of all, I'm tired.

And that's why I allow the collapse of the boundaries I'd set for myself that reinforce the existence of my morals.

That's why I let myself fall.

* * *

_Soft sighs accompanied with unintelligible murmurs fill the room completely. It seems like the stifling heat absorbs everything that leaves his lips before it reaches my ears, but I don't mind it._

_I let him wrap himself in me, around me, and wherever else he wants to be. It's because I want him to fulfill the lusts of the flesh, _my_ flesh, and everything beyond that. It's because I know no one else can._

_It doesn't seem like it now, but I know this can't possibly result in happiness. This gluttonous indulgence gives me an idea of what could be. I know I won't be content anywhere else after this._

_In a heap of sweat and sheets, his spindly fingers threaded through sweat-dampened hair identical to his own, and lanky appendages entangled in a complicated mess…it would be impossible to escape, even if I wanted to. It's okay._

_I don't._

_

* * *

_

Even through the incredible heat and haziness that always accompanies a person after sleep, I don't think I've ever felt as sharp as I do now. I'm acutely aware of where I am, what I'm doing here, the perversity of what I'm awakening from, and his presence in the room.

My eyes remain closed.

I can hear him speaking quietly in his mobile phone, his voice so hushed that I can't make out the rushed words. He's whispering sharply, sounding as if he's having an argument with the poor soul on the other line. I honestly don't care who he's speaking to or what he's speaking about.

I focus on trying to cleanse myself, metaphorically, as best I can before I make my state of consciousness known.

Though the nightmare was hazy with many gaps in the events of my psyche, I remember too much. I'm no longer dreaming, and yet I feel unwanted nimble phantom fingers tracing my ribs leisurely and delicately.

I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from screaming in protest at the imaginary touch.

"Kaoru! You're awake!"

There's relief in his voice, along with a tinge of annoyance. As soon as he speaks, the unwelcome sensations on my chest cease. I'm not sure why this is, but my perplexity doesn't reduce the gratefulness I feel.

I finally open my eyes and see that he's standing at the foot of my bed with the phone still at his ear. I discover who he's been talking to when I hear the shrill sound of my mother's voice coming through the phone, muffled by its attachment to Hikaru's ear, but still just as irritating.

I watch with mild amusement as he flinches while our mother's voice increases in volume. I expect that she heard when Hikaru stated the obvious, and now she's anxious to hear from me.

He pays no heed to her. Instead, he lowers the phone slightly, so that it isn't directly over his ear, and simply looks at me. I immediately gaze at the door, not possessing the strength to look at him in the eyes.

I suddenly remember the incident on the stairs, and shame floods through me. I'm infuriated at myself for displaying such a humiliating example of weakness, especially in front of Hikaru.

"I'm sorry." I say with genuine sincerity. My voice is hoarse and dry. It's actually quite uncomfortable to speak.

I hear him sigh, but I'm not sure if his expression is of one of irritation or anger like I expect. I'm still not looking at him, but he doesn't address that.

"_I'm_ sorry, Kaoru."

Nothing else he could've said would have surprised me more. I'm about to ask _What for?__And why are you ignoring my apology?_, but fortunately, he explains before I have to force my voice out of my painfully dry throat again.

"I shouldn't have let you walk home. I know that when it comes down to it, I can't control what you do. But…I don't know. I feel like I _let_ you. And before you say it's not my job to look after you, I know. It isn't. But there's a difference between looking after someone and actually letting them do something that's stupid that they don't know is stupid, but _you_ know it's stupid, so you have to do something about it, you know? You…you can't just _not_ do something about it!"

He continues babbling and with each passing word, his voice is growing shriller and more panicked.

I can't help but feel guilty for making him feel guilty.

"It isn't your fault." I ignore the throbbing in both my head and throat to continue. "You told me not to walk home, that it was foolish because it was raining, but I did it anyway. I would have done it, even if you'd been more persistent with me. I just…" I clear my throat as something occurs to me. "I don't understand why I'm feeling so horrible. I couldn't have gotten sick from staying out in the cold too long. I began feeling sick as I was walking home, and…it doesn't make sense. Maybe I contracted a virus earlier and it's just hitting me now."

Hikaru raises an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject, but catches on, nonetheless.

"Yeah, you're probably right. I'm sure walking home in the rain didn't help matters any, though." He adds the last part bitterly.

I hear Mom on the phone yelling something about Hikaru ignoring her and that she'll ground him when she gets home from her business trip, but I quickly tune her out.

There's a dial tone. Hikaru pulls it away from his face and looks at the device like it's a foreign, unfamiliar object. It signals the end of mine and Hikaru's conversation, also.

"I'll be okay. I just need to rest." I tell him, simply wanting to be alone. I can see that he wants to verify that, to make sure that I don't need anything, but he ends up saying nothing. I don't know if he can feel the tense atmosphere in the room, too, but I suddenly sense that he'd like to be anywhere but here.

I'd like him to be anywhere but here, too.

He walks from my room without sparing a glance. I'm glad he doesn't, because I probably would've shriveled up in fear under my blankets. He doesn't realize how intimidating he is to me. He doesn't realize that he's the cause of his deviant role in my nightmares.

It must remain that way, at all costs.

* * *

Thoughts? Feelings? Concerns? Drop a review, maybe? :D


	3. Quit

T_ h_ r _e_ e

_- Quit -_

"Kaoru," he whispers, leaning uncomfortably close to me. "You look ill. You really shouldn't have come to school." He places his hand on my forehead. I have to keep myself from smacking it away. I can't believe he's doing this. He's making a show out of real emotions, emotions I consider sacred. Does he not realize what he's corrupting, or does he just not care?

"So hot…" he mumbles lowly. I bite my lip to keep from crying out in protest. I feel the craving I've been getting frequently, but try to ignore it. I need to massage my wrist again because I know that will help to calm me down, but I'm not in a position to. Instead, I try to focus on the soft sighs and irritating, high-pitched squeals our fans are emitting their brightly colored, candy-flavored gloss coated lips. It's better than feeling his hands on me. It's better than remembering my nightmares down to each insignificant detail.

Can't he see my blatant discomfort? Does he just think I'm acting, like he is? I've stopped acting, long ago. He still hasn't noticed. I doubt anyone has.

My chest is beginning to ache and I feel that I'm growing faint again. My heart rate is increasing and I just want to _run_. I want to get away from the Host Club, useless as it is. I want to get away from the superficiality of our fans. I want to get away from _him_.

I can't do this anymore.

Bowing my head, I try to grow numb to everything around me. I want to shut off all of my five senses and be oblivious to _everything_, even my own thoughts. _Especially_ my own thoughts, because they pose the greatest threat.

He completes his act for the girls that mean nothing to me, and probably nothing to anybody, because otherwise, they wouldn't be here.

I allow him to continue, because that's all I can do right now. He has the ability to complete the show by himself. When one brother fails, the other steps in and sets everything right.

That's why, to the outside world, being twins is a large convenience. I'll be the first one to attest that that belief is the epitome of a misconception.

_

* * *

_

_Quitters never prosper._

Is there any truth to that? Quitters never succeed? They never win the game of life?

Well, maybe that's true. I don't know. I'm dropping out of the race, regardless. I'm done trying to win, or at least trying to make it to the finish line, because it isn't possible. Sometimes, I feel like there's some almighty deity laughing at the sight of everyone trying to _make it_. He's laughing, because there's no making it, and no one acknowledges it. No one ever wins the race. They die before they get even relatively close to the finish line, and thus, they've dropped out of the larger game of life. And they don't know how insignificant that race was. Even if, by some miracle, they make it out of the race alive, they still have _life_ to conquer.

No one wins _that_ game. That's common knowledge, and yet, people still try.

_Quitters never prosper._

"Tamaki, I will no longer be participating in the club or any of the activities it hosts."

Kyouya actually looks up from his laptop as I say this, which is a feat, since no one has addressed him personally.

Tamaki says nothing. I'm not sure if this is good or bad. There may be a storm brewing inside him, and while I've never been even remotely frightened of the Idiot King, I have the urge to meet up with Hikaru before Tamaki responds. It's highly unusual for me to be feeling this, because I've been trying to avoid my brother at all costs.

"But…_What? _Why?" he finally speaks, his normally smooth voice coming out in a strangled whisper. I'm glad I waited until everyone left. I don't know if I would be able to handle everyone else's incredulous eyes on me, and their disappointment when the shock finally drains away. I should have prepared an explanation. Of course, I knew I'd be asked _why_. And even though I knew that question was inevitable, I'd still planned nothing.

"I just feel like…" I hesitate for a moment, trying to think of a better explanation to my sudden desire to be excluded from the Host Club. I come up with nothing, as expected, and continue. "I feel like I could be doing something better with my time. I just don't feel enthusiastic about attending the Host Club anymore. I'm sorry."

I look in Kyouya's general direction to see that he's returned his attention to his laptop again. Behind the bluish glow of the screen reflecting on his glasses, his dark eyes seem empty and devoid of any emotion. It's not surprising, to see that my absence won't have an effect on him.

I'm afraid to look at Tamaki because I know his reaction will be much different than his apathetic friend's. I know I have to, though, because I know it will bother me if I don't. I've never really respected Tamaki, but he's still my friend. As much as I wish it didn't, his opinion does matter to me.

I'm shocked, to say the least, when I see that his expression mirrors Kyouya's. I know that he's never been good at hiding his emotions. It's always obvious to everyone what he's feeling, but now, that isn't the case. I have no idea what thoughts are flitting through his head at the moment, the head that I'd always assumed had the least activity of all of us going on in it. It bothers me, not knowing what he's thinking. But I know he's thinking. His eyes are narrowed, and although I'm blind to anything he may be contemplating, he's _thinking_. He isn't thinking of frivolous things…things that probably won't matter in the morning.

Those things…the things that I'm sure usually fill his head.

His blond hair partially obscures his face, which irks me greatly. He's hiding behind his hair. He won't let me see, he won't open his mind to me. He's _hiding_. I _hate_ that.

I'm reminded so much of myself.

I watch with avid curiosity as his lips form the word, _'okay'_. A small sound escapes, not as quiet as a whisper, but not loud enough to be considered speaking normally. This small sound, along with the movement of his lips, officially dismisses me. And I walk away at a slightly slower pace than average, as if I'm expecting him to say something more. He doesn't.

The sound of Kyouya typing rapidly on his laptop gradually silences until there's nothing but the sound of my own erratic breathing. That's when I know I've opened the door of the music room and stepped out to meet my oblivious twin.

I never looked back.

* * *

I don't want to be kneeling at the side of my bed, trembling uncontrollably, and clutching a filthy beanie baby. I'm fully aware of how pathetic I look as I grip the ratty stuffed puppy.

I don't really care right now. No one can see me, anyway.

I'm not sure how Booger got under my bed. He disappeared from my life years ago. I remember how attached Hikaru was to him. Looking back, I can't remember where he got the thing, but regardless, Booger probably meant more to him than I did. I claimed that I was quite attached to the stuffed animal, so we fought over it often. But I knew my twin would never willingly give Booger up. The issue was resolved when one of the nannies made us share. I ended up following Hikaru and Booger around, who was always clutched in his tiny hands.

It was just an excuse to have the important position of Hikaru's shadow. While he had formed an attachment to a toy, like any normal child would, I had formed an attachment to him. And while his dependence for Booger eventually died, mine still lives.

I'd never really cared for Booger.

The nagging ache in my chest is back again. I'd go downstairs to the medicine cabinet to take something for it, but I know that Hikaru's down there watching television. He'll ask about today. Even though he hasn't, I know he will, eventually. I'm not sure why he hasn't inquired about the reason why I stayed at the Host Club to speak to Tamaki. Maybe he just doesn't care. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part.

It isn't a big deal. I know I can calm myself down, because I've done it before. It just angers me that a stuffed puppy caused this reaction.

I put Booger in my dresser drawer because there's really nowhere else to put him. I won't have to see him…I won't have to see how imperfect he is, filthy and covered with lint and only one beady eye. I won't have to keep remembering the time the seed was planted.

I have to deal with what it's flowered into. No, _flower_ isn't the word. That would suggest that something beautiful has come from the formation of the abnormal attachment to my brother. _Mutate_ would be much more accurate.

I have to deal with what it's _mutated_ into.

I can't ignore it, because I'm always reminded in my sleep. The feelings don't go away, the shame I feel every morning will never leave me, and Booger still exists. He's in my drawer and I can't see him, but he still exists. Everything he symbolizes, and all the memories he's brought with him from out of the large region of filth beneath my mattress, still fucking exist.

I climb onto my bed, completely exhausted. My blanket and sheets are tangled together, and that's quite bothersome on this particular night. Sleepiness clouds my eyes and my arms seem to be flailing about in no specific direction as I try to wrap myself in my wrinkled sheets. Eventually, I give up and simply collapse on the messy heap of bedding. It isn't comfortable, not that comfort is to be expected.

My hand instinctually moves toward my wrist, beginning to knead it with my thumb, trying to get rid of some of the anxiety that's accumulated within me during the day.

Sleep scares me, because I know the horrors that come with it. My eyes feel incredibly heavy, though, and it's nearly impossible to keep them open. The energy is slowly draining from my body, and I hardly notice when my thumb slips from my wrist, the hand it's attached to dropping limp at my side.

I know I can't fight sleep any longer, so I don't. I willingly surrender to the dark places my nightmares take me. While it doesn't seem dark while I'm asleep, I know that when I wake up, the memories of what went through my head will gnaw at my insides.

It's horrible, tonight, especially. It's because I know I'm dreaming, and yet I ignore that. I succumb to the seemingly never ending bliss that only exists there, because I know when I wake up, it will be the end of that. Any semblance of blithe cheerfulness will be completely gone. I'll doubt that such a feeling ever existed. The filth that's covering my flesh and running through my veins makes happiness such an absurd notion. So out of this realm, it's almost laughable.

I can't laugh when I know what real euphoria feels like. I know what I'm missing, and I know that it isn't at all possible to gain such ecstasy ever again.

That's why I bask in it now. I know that it's the source of my discontent, but I've lived this too many times for it to get better. I don't want to fight anymore. I _can't_, because I know I can't win.

I do what's easiest, and allow myself to indulge in what my mind offers me. I feel every sensation that causes waves of bliss to rock through me and the paroxysm of ecstasy that leaves me completely delirious.

Even though the events aren't real, the feelings of wonderment and intoxicating exuberance are.

When I wake up, hours before dawn, every feeling of joy vanishes. I'm feverish and panting, and all I can think about is how this is Hikaru's fault. It was his idea to start the brotherly act at the Host Club, and even though I'm not participating in it anymore, the damage is already done.

I peel the sheets off of my body, damp with sweat. I want to see how he sleeps. I want to know how peaceful his nights are, while I writhe in my own bed, dreaming of things I'd never repeat to anyone. I loathe even acknowledging it, to myself, especially.

When I'm standing in the middle of my room, away from the warmth of my bed, I realize how cold it is. I almost want to retreat back to the comfort of my blankets, but I refrain. The desire to see Hikaru, asleep and defenseless and completely vulnerable in his natural sleep state outweighs my yearning for warmth.

I try not to think too much about how yet another headache is attacking my cranium as I mindlessly pad to my brother's room.

His door is ajar. I gently nudge it open with my shoulder and soundlessly wander in. There isn't a sound detectable to my ears. He's always been a quiet sleeper, never snoring. From across the room, I can see that his breathing is how it normally is as he sleeps. It's slow, soft, and silent. His chest barely moves up and down as he draws small amounts of oxygen in at regular intervals.

It would be completely dark if it weren't for the moonlight leaking through his parted curtains. It creates a dim glow to his whole room. Because of it, I can clearly see his face.

His eyebrows are furrowed and his eyes look shut tighter than they would be normally. His hair is splayed messily on his pillow and the bedding is wrapped tightly his waist. His left leg has escaped the confines of the sheets, and his whole body seems tense.

It looks as if he's dreaming of something unpleasant, though, his calm breathing contradicts that.

I release a shaky breath I didn't know I was holding. This isn't Hikaru. Hikaru never looks so discomposed. Hikaru never has troubling dreams. That's me, never my twin. I'm not comfortable any other way.

I realize that I'm looming over him. When had my legs taken me to close to his bed? I don't remember approaching him.

This feels so foreign to me. It's been so long since I last came into his room after a nightmare. He hasn't said anything about it, but I know he's noticed. He'd have to be an idiot, not to have.

I try not to think too much about what I'm doing as I crawl silently in his bed. I can't, if I want this to end with the feeling of safety and comfort I get whenever I'm with him and not weighed down with the shame of my nightmares.

It feels incredible, not being exposed to the cold anymore. I don't even have to get under the blankets. His body is emitting enough warmth for me. I can forget everything that's been keeping me withdrawn and distant from him as I allow myself to lay next to him, my body against his. He doesn't move or stir, but I think his facial expression is beginning to relax into something akin to tranquil. That can't be my imagination.

I know I'll reap the ramifications of my actions tomorrow, but right now, I can't bring myself to care. That's perfectly okay, because I don't want to care.

I won't be getting anymore sleep tonight. That's okay, too.

* * *

_A/N: I meant to update earlier than this. In fact, I've had it written for awhile...but, I've had problems with my computer. I'm not going to go into details and bore you all, but basically, computer problems = updatage delay. :( Also, if the way I'm titling my chapters is bothering you (with every other letter italic), you're not alone. I don't like it either, but my OCD prevents me from changing it. I like things equal and consistent. It's one of my not-so endearing quirks, I guess._

Yeah...I changed my user name...again. This is my final one, I promise!

_I annoy myself so much. -_-_

Oh, yes, and also: I know that in the anime, Hikaru and Kaoru shared a bed. I changed that for my own benefit. Just thought I'd let you know, 'n stuff.

Review? I'd really like that. :)


	4. Reality

F o u r

_- Reality -_

Time seems to slow down for once. I'm not struggling to keep up with it. I'm actually resting and not running, and it feels incredible.

I'm not sure why I get the feeling time has ceased to exist. I don't really care, either, so I'm not going to speculate. I'm going to enjoy this, because I know the regret I'll face will be unbearable if I don't take advantage of this serenity.

I can just faintly hear Hikaru's slow breathing. I'm so close to his sleeping form and it's so silent. When I focus, I think I can even hear his heartbeat. The repetitiveness of it is comforting.

I'm not impatient for the uneventful hours to roll by. I am, by no means, bored. I can feel time pass as well as see it, as I stare out the window with calm indifference. The mythical glow of the room is gradually disappearing as the sun rises.

My vision grows blurry, and with slight surprise, I realize that I'm beginning to cry. I don't bother trying to stifle the tears, because that would be futile. I just close my eyes, allow my eyelashes to get covered with the salty liquid, and ignore the rising sun. It signifies the beginning of the ending for this beautiful moment, this pause in time. It will be set in motion again soon, and I don't want that to happen. I want the sun to stay down and I want Hikaru to remain blissfully unaware of everything around him.

But the sun has to continue rising, and the alarm clock has to go off. Hikaru will wake, and so will I from my rare display of emotion.

I'm prepared for the silence to be brutally shattered by the screaming of the alarm clock. I've learned from the last time.

I don't even flinch as it signals the beginning of the day. I simply open my eyes and wipe my cheeks, all the while being highly aware of my brother stirring and groaning softly beside me.

His arm darts out from under the blanket, quicker than I'd expect from someone lethargic from sleep. He fumbles with the alarm clock for a few moments, until finally, he successfully quiets the infernal noise. A few ephemeral seconds follow, in which Hikaru realizes that something is out of the ordinary.

I feel his muscles tighten against mine, at my side. I'm not okay with this anymore, because when time started moving again just moments ago, reality became something much more than just a distant and unpleasant memory from the past. It's valid and real now.

Because his hair is splayed chaotically on his head and partially in his face, it's difficult for me to see his eyes. I can't accurately gauge what he's thinking. This is new, since we've always seemed to be perfectly attuned to each other's feelings.

I doubt that the disarrayed thatch of hair obstructing his eyes is the only thing to blame for the sudden barrier between us.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his eyes wide, judging from what I can see of them. He clears his throat to get rid of the hoarseness of his voice and shakes his head, a bit lazily, to get rid of the wild mess of hair in front of his face.

I can, finally, see the concern dominating the confusion in his eyes, as I'd expected.

I remember where I am and how close I am to him. It's beyond me, how I forgot in the first place. But as soon as I'm aware of it, I instinctively lunge away. My back hits a cold, solid structure. I'm now trapped between Hikaru and the wall.

"Kaoru, what's wrong?"

Apparently, I don't need to answer his first question. He's already concluded that something's not right, judging by the alarm in his voice.

I try to slow my breathing. It had begun to accelerate the moment he'd awaken, but I'm only now just realizing that I'm on the verge of hyperventilating.

I'm aware now that it was a big mistake on my part, coming to his room. But with my brain muddled with fragments of my nightmare and illogical thoughts, my actions were predictably irrational. Of course, in such an irrational state of mind, I was unable to anticipate this moment, even though its occurrence was inevitable.

"Nothing." I practically wheeze, forcing the word from my throat forcefully. He, of course, doesn't believe that. I know he's refraining from rolling his eyes right now. Maybe it's that he knows my pathetic answer isn't at all comical. It's painfully pathetic, and he knows that it isn't pathetic in a laughable way.

I hate that he's so empathetic. It was once a blessing, but now, it's the basis of my anxiety.

"Did you have a nightmare?" he asks me, his voice still a bit rough. I'm frightened by the truthfulness of his inquiry, but not surprised. Before the nightmares that haunt me now, I would always go to Hikaru after waking from an unpleasant dream. These nightmares were nothing like the ones I have now, though. As a child, I would dream of things that children are normally afraid of. I would get terrified at the prospect of a monster hiding in my closet or a hideous creature living under my bed. I would run to his room in my footed pajamas after waking from a nightmare, a stereotypical monster having starred in my dream.

He would ask if I would like to cuddle with Booger. I'd always say yes, because the toy was always pre-warmed with Hikaru's body heat. I would clutch it to my chest, knowing it was the closest I'd get to clutching my actual brother.

My nightmares became more gruesome and violent as I grew older, due to the exposure to more mature things in television shows, movies, and the media. I fled to his room, like I had as a child. And although Booger was no longer there, he was.

They were generally rare, and seldom frightening enough that I felt I had to seek Hikaru's comfort. They occurred with a frequency that would be considered normal. They never posed much of a threat to me, save for the few moments of terror I endured after waking from a particularly unsettling one.

With no warning, _these_ nightmares came. Unlike the past ones, they come every night. I'm not allowed one night of peace. They're much more horrific than any nightmare I've ever experienced in the past. It's because _I'm_ the monster in my dreams.

I can't tell him this. I can't tell anyone this. I'm not completely sure what would result from it, probably because I refuse to imagine the possibilities.

I know can't lie to him. It isn't that it's against my personal morals. It's simply because I _can't_ lie to him. He always catches faulty truths, especially my own.

That's why I don't answer his question.

"Please get up. You're blocking the only exit I have from this bed, and I have to get ready for school." I say, working hard to keep emotion from my voice. I can't feign being perfectly fine, so I settle for apathy.

He knows I'm right. He knows that we don't have time to talk. He doesn't even bother to try to hide the irritation on his face as he crawls out of bed. He's creating a show of it, making it look as if the menial task of getting out of bed is exceptionally tiresome.

He's slow, probably because he thinks there's a chance I'll stop him to talk. I refuse to strip away the metaphorical layers I've covered myself in. Even for him…_especially_ for him.

This is how the day begins. Unfortunately, I doubt it will get any easier.

* * *

I used to love the courtyard.

I remember walking through it with Hikaru after school and gazing longingly at the Koi pond in the center of it all. There were lotus flowers of such a vivid pink, the color rivaled the blush of one of our many fans during our brotherly love acts.

I'd often times almost want to delay our arrival home, just to sit near the rocks bordering the Koi ponds and think. What I wanted to think about, I'm not even sure. I just know that I wanted to think.

I refrained from voicing that desire to my brother, though. I knew he'd probably scoff at such a womanish request. It would just make it something impossible if he verbally denied it, and I wasn't willing to risk it for fear of the disillusionment that would surely follow.

And now, it's right before me. I have the chance to do what I've been yearning to do ever since I came to Ouran. Not one thing is out of place. The Lotus flowers are still floating serenely on the surface of the water, above the Koi fish. Their color hasn't dulled at all since last seeing them. If anything, it has become more vibrant. It's such a rich pink, almost red. In my mind, I see the color bleed away, the flower weeping its radiant hue of glowing cerise.

All that's left is a pale and wilted flower, surrounded by the toxins of the color that it was once painted in. The Koi fish have to endure living in tainted water now.

I suddenly don't have the desire to spend anymore time than I have to in the courtyard.

Moving as quickly as I can without actually running, I swiftly get away from the pond and the threatening flowers littering its surface. I walk further and further away, gaining speed and not caring if anyone can see. I know no one's watching, anyway. They're all in class.

Despite what my mischievous persona might suggest, I've not once skipped school. It isn't that it violates my ethical beliefs. I've just never felt the need to escape Ouran. It has never felt as confining as it does now.

The inevitability that Hikaru would find out that I've quit the Host Club made the unease residing within me rise to great levels. The paranoia and fear swelling within me eventually grew too much to bear.

I left the school between classes without a second thought.

I leave campus, not thinking and hardly seeing. I can only feel the firmness of the concrete sidewalk beneath my shoed feet and the growing detachment to the building behind me.

* * *

It feels odd without Hikaru's presence. The sudden realization as to _why_ it feels odd is shocking to me. It brings a heap of shame to me, taking the form of a massive wave of mortification.

I don't know if I've always known it. I don't know if Hikaru knows it. I know it now, though. I know it's been budding inside of a calcified shell of protection. I'm not sure what caused it to break, and quite frankly, I don't care.

I've never realized what I symbolize to him, and more importantly, to myself. I'm the delicate and vulnerable twin. I have no doubt that it stems from the heart defect I'd been born with.

That was probably the only point in my life that my parents saw me as a separate child from my brother. I was the sickly twin, the one that drained all the energy and attention from my mother and father. I was a parasite, taking more than my share. Hikaru went without many things because of me.

Though I don't exactly fancy the label of being a leech, I know that it was who _I_ was. That was one thing my brother didn't share with me.

How unfortunate it is, that I can't remember that point in my life.

Even after the obligatory treatment came to an end and it was declared that I would be fine, I was still fawned over. I've seen the pictures. I know this, for a fact. I see my mother, holding me and looking stressed and bedraggled. And I know it's me, because I'm so much smaller than my sleeping, healthy-looking twin. Father is standing there, eyes wide. He has no idea what to do, and Mother is too busy with me to demand his assistance.

My mouth is wide open in a piercing wail and my tiny fingers are clutching in the air at an entity only visible to me.

Hikaru is behind my mother and I, sleeping peacefully in our crib despite the deafening noise I'm sure I was making.

I hate that photo. What sadistic photographer could have taken it? Who could have thought that it would be a time in our lives that we'd want to look back on and remember?

I suppose it doesn't matter. What matters is what it represents right now, in the present.

My purpose is to be part of Hikaru. I represent the raw ball of nerves coiled in his chest that he's never had the chance to express. I'm the pain, tears, happiness, and guilt. I give him what he naturally lacks, and he takes it greedily. That's perfectly okay, because if he refused to accept my gift to him to replace what he doesn't have, I'd have no one to give it to. I need someone to give it to. I need to make up for what I've stolen from my brother.

Without the stability Hikaru is, I would crumble into a shattered heap. I would be a casing, dormant of any useful substance. And now, I only possess the residual debris of what I once was: a carbon copy of my brother.

He doesn't realize that I've turned into an alien. I'm completely warped and altered on the inside, resembling nothing that exists in reality. I no longer resemble Hikaru even slightly. Yet, he still sees a mirror image of himself every time his gaze lands on me.

He doesn't look like me. I look like him.

A violent shudder rips through me. Whether it's because I'm beginning to literally feel ill because of the disconcerting thoughts mulling around in my head or the biting cold, I don't know. All I know is that I've been wandering aimlessly, thoroughly distracting myself. How could I completely abandon reality, without even being aware of it? This phenomenon of unwittingly leaving the present leaves me feeling uneasy.

I make a conscious effort to stop shuffling around pointlessly. I don't think I've ever felt this physically drained. I'm just getting used to mental exhaustion. I'm not ready for this. I never was, and I never will be.

The images of the surrounding people all bleed together in one mess of ugly color. Nothing is solid anymore; nothing is certain. I don't know when my ability to distinguish people from each other left me. I can only see the violent splash of repulsive stains on the canvas of the area. It's so hideously chaotic that I can scarcely believe it was once so clear and simple. I miss that.

I want to let myself fall, like last time. But I know that Hikaru isn't there to catch me, so I try to hold onto my composure.

I think my joints are aching, but I'm not sure. The pain is so dull that I can barely feel it. Though I'm back from the nearly inescapable prison of my mind, I'm still not fully here. Try as I might, I can't bring myself to fully perceive reality realistically. I fear that I may never come back.

_I shouldn't have walked home in the rain_, I think to myself fleetingly. I need to hold onto that thought. It's logical; I have to hold onto it.

_Hikaru's probably right. I'm just ill. I'll get over it._

I still haven't quite reached the surface yet…

It's funny, how consequential it is that I'm still lucid enough to see and hear the things that actually matter. It's funny, how my greatest desire at this moment seems to have conveniently fallen in my lap.

It's quiet. There's no other noise but his voice, however inexplicable its place here might be. I could be hallucinating. That's a very real possibility, but I can't bring myself to question its validity any further than that. I just can't. I know that logically, it can't be here. And still, I hold onto it. I hold onto it like it's the last shred of sanity I possess, because I firmly believe that it is.

The sound is real to me. That's all that matters.

* * *

_A/N: Just to let you know, I don't plan on bringing up Kaoru's congenital heart issues in the future. If I do, it won't be because he's suddenly developed something that requires medical attention. I only included that heart detail because I thought it was essential to form the shaping of both Hikaru's and Kaoru's character traits. I may go a bit into that later on in the story, but it won't take the form of a debilitating illness/infection/disease that Kaoru's suffering from. So, there's that. Also...shit, I was going to mention something else, but it seems that I've forgotten. I'll probably remember it later and then I'll get all pissed off at myself._

Anyway.

I want to thank anyone who has been leaving anonymous reviews. I would reply if I could, but I can't, so I'll thank you here. :) Your support is appreciated.

Look forward to a lot of interaction between the twins in the next update. I'm really looking forward to writing it. Hopefully it'll be up soon.

Let me know what you thought of the chapter. :D


	5. Paralysis

F i v e

_- Paralysis -_

I'm uncomfortable.

My thighs feel plastered to the leather seat. Upon closer examination, I find that it's because I'm wet. It's raining. The window is streaked with water and tiny beads of moisture.

I hadn't even noticed.

My muddled daze has been cleared, but unfortunately, my thought process is still chaotic and disorderly. My perception of sights, sounds, and smells is accurate, and yet I can't correctly process the things my senses are feeding me.

"Why aren't you in school?" he all but shouts at me.

I angle my head to the direction of his voice. His periwinkle blazer is gone. I can see it draping carelessly on the back of the driver's seat.

The man occupying the driver's seat is staring straight ahead, looking indifferent. His name escapes me. I wonder if he's as miserable as I would be in his position.

In his haste, Hikaru must have removed his blazer in fear of getting it wet. I think it's all pointless, personally. I want to scoff at his efforts of being neat and tidy. It doesn't matter.

"Why aren't _you_ in school?" I quip. It's immature of me, I know. But things are slowly becoming easier to see, and as a result, I'm gradually gaining the ability to think again. I need to use my wit and sarcasm when I can, because my capability to do so could disappear at any moment.

"You know why I'm not in school, Kaoru! Quit avoiding the question!" I imagine he's been holding his irritation in for awhile. It seems to be coming out now, directly at me.

His chest is heaving underneath his dress shirt. It's clinging to him like a second skin, having been thoroughly soaked by the heavy torrents of rain from the heavens above.

I rip my gaze from his torso, feeling ashamed and completely disgusted with myself once again. _It's starting to happen when I'm awake_, I realize. _There's no escaping it._ I'm nearly paralyzed with horror.

"I felt sick." I mumble, gripping my wrist and rubbing it like I do when I'm nervous. This isn't a lie. I've felt sick in more ways than one for a long time, and it hasn't gotten any better.

Hikaru whispers something under his breath that sounds a lot like _'I told you so'_. He's probably referring to my stubborn attitude against staying home.

"Why didn't you just call someone to come and get you from school? In case you haven't noticed, this isn't exactly ideal weather for a sick person to be in. Why…?" he trails off and sighs exasperatedly. He runs his spindly fingers through his wet hair, which is splayed messily around his face and forehead.

"Saitou-san, please take us home." he calls to the front of the car. His lips barely part as he speaks. I realize, a bit belatedly, that Saitou-san is our driver. He's been serving our family for years, and yet if my life depended on it, I probably wouldn't have been able to recall his name. I don't know how I could forget something I'd known most of my life. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have noticed if he'd died and suddenly disappeared from my life.

He nods his head in such a subtle manner, it's almost imperceptible. I feel the vehicle vibrate gently under me as it starts. The quiet hum of the motor is the only sound for a few moments, until Hikaru speaks again.

"I don't understand why you seemed so surprised." he begins in a calm voice. He's controlled, and that makes me even more uneasy. "I've noticed how weird you've been acting lately. I'd have to be an idiot not to. That, combined with the fact that you suddenly left the Host Club without a legitimate explanation and your sudden disappearance from school today has put me on edge, if you can believe it."

The bitterness of his words, accompanied with a distasteful edge of sarcasm leaves me floored. It's so unlike him to sound this way. I hate that I'm the reason that his usual carefree attitude is gone.

He's leisurely leaning in the corner of the car, between the seat and the edge of the closed door. His body language contradicts the fire in his eyes. I wonder how he can do this, how he can look so serene on the outside while he's being blown around by his own cyclone of anger and confusion on the inside.

"What's going on, Kaoru?" he breaths. "Or is it even worth asking that? Am I wrong to think it is foolish to expect an answer?"

His eyes dart to mine, looking at me expectantly. He's silently pleading with me to say yes, to assure him that he's just being a paranoid fool. But I don't want to lie, if I can help it. This applies to Hikaru, especially.

And so, I don't try to stop myself from confirming his fears. I know that it will hurt him; I know that it will put him on edge, and I know he won't stop worrying about this until he gets clear answers from me.

"No, you're not." I eventually reply.

This small grain of truth is all he'll get. I wonder if it's sadistic of me, instead of kind to tell him something that isn't a lie. I can't bring myself to regret the words that just left my mouth. I want to be indifferent. I want to distance myself from him.

I'm afraid this is only possible if Hikaru is a willing participant in our detachment.

The iciness I require to protect me is beginning to corrode when I see his reaction to my sincere words.

His lips are closed tightly around his teeth. He's trying to bite back the angry screams and yells that I'm sure are trying to escape.

He breaks eye contact with me. I'd be lying if I said I was glad. Even though I'm very good at reading my twin, he's even better at hiding his emotions. The only way it's possible for me to determine what he's feeling is if his traitorous eyes are visible to me.

He grabs his blazer, even though he's going to have to go back out in the rain again when we get home. He just needs something to do with his hands, something to distract him.

His eyes are mostly veiled by a curtain of wet hair, but I can still see his face flushed with frustration and his suspiciously spastic movements. I know how upset he is, and I know there's nothing I can do to lessen my guilt.

All I can do is ignore the aching in my joints, and especially in my chest.

I curl up in my corner of the car, as far from Hikaru as possible. Absentmindedly rubbing the flesh over my drenched shirt where the irritating aching lies, I settle on staring out the window for the rest of the ride.

* * *

She isn't home. He isn't, either.

In the grand scheme of things, I suppose that isn't a good thing. Is it wrong that I find myself exhaling in relief when I see our oversized home devoid of any life, except for the dull Saitou-san, who has disappeared somewhere in our house? When was it that I stopped liking my parents?

I hear Hikaru sigh deeply. His arms, hanging limply at his sides, suddenly swing forward and extend outward from his body. This is like relief for him, I realize. It's almost like his literally embracing home with open arms. I can see the stress drain away from him. His posture has become more slack. Though he's tight-lipped and his mouth is set in a straight line far from his usual smile, it's an improvement from the frown he'd just been wearing, identical to my own.

His face isn't made for frowning. It looks so unnatural, the way it stretches his lips in an unattractive, twisted manner. It's because he rarely displays any emotion akin to displeasure. I believe that his face has molded itself around his constant, genuine grin.

I wonder what I look like when I'm frowning.

"I'm going to my room." I suddenly announce, walking toward the stairs before I've even finished the sentence. I plan on remaining in my bedroom until it's time to get up again in the morning to prepare for another day of school. I don't want to be around Hikaru anymore. I won't give him another opportunity to interrogate me. I refuse to put myself in a position to be asked questions I can't answer.

Even though my back is to him now and I can't see him, I can tell he's tensed up again. His frustration is rolling off of him and I can sense that. He knows I can, too.

His arms fall back to his sides limply, dropping like dead weight. I know this because I can hear the swish of his wet blazer sliding against his sides rather loudly.

"Kaoru," he starts, his voice uncharacteristically concerned. He does sounds that way often, especially during our acts in the Host Club, but it's rarely genuine. I can always tell when he means it. He never worries about anything. He's always lived in the moment, which I envy about him. And if the moment isn't enjoyable, he travels to the future in his mind, examining the possibility of outlandish events. Or sometimes, he goes to the past to revisit a pleasant memory.

He's told me this about himself. I remember the particular night I'd gone to his room, years ago, after an unsettling dream. He'd told me that it was possible to escape the present. I'd been incredulous at the suggestion of time travel, of course.

As a child, I'd lacked in the imagination department.

And even after he'd explained that his way of abandoning the present didn't involve redefining logic, I was still skeptical.

"_Just try it with me, Kaoru!" _he'd pleaded in a loud whisper, gripping my small hand in his own. And I did, because I was desperate. I'd been willing to try anything, honestly, to distract myself from the monsters I'd been convinced were living underneath my bed.

I don't know what he'd been thinking of, because despite our strong brotherly bond, I couldn't read his mind. I'd spent those moments, curled up next to my brother, visiting memories I'd promised myself I'd never forget. _This will be my favorite memory, _I remember thinking.

I'd also thought of the future, and how nothing would ever change between Hikaru and I. I'd convinced that sibling rivalry and other petty things would never get in the way. I'd rationalized that we could only get closer, because how could it be possible that such a deep bond may break someday?

That became a pattern. Each night, I would lull myself to sleep with these kinds of thoughts swimming through my head.

I'd stopped trying to dwell on our intense attachment to each other after my more recent nightmares began occurring. It certainly hadn't aided me in getting through the night peacefully.

Hikaru's grip on my shoulder brings me back to reality. Ironically enough, I'd just left the present without knowing it. This is the first instance of 'time travel' in a long while.

"I'm not going to let you hide in your room all day again. I'm not going to ask why you've been acting the exact opposite of your normal self, either, because I know that would be pointless. You've made it painfully obvious that I won't learn anything about what's going on by using that method."

I turn around swiftly to face him, his hand sliding off of my shoulder. I realize that I've unconsciously stiffened my muscles where his hand had rested. Working to calm myself, I shoot him a questioning glance as I step further away from him.

His eyes widen slightly, showing me that he's surprised at my actions. Doesn't he get it? Doesn't he realize how desperately I've been trying to distance myself from him?

He glances at the stairs, as if he's uncomfortable looking at me. I'm not certain why, but this angers me. Am I not even worthy of his gaze?

I direct the anger onto myself when I remember that this is what I want. I want him to distance himself from me, more than anything.

"I don't know if you fully understand how selfish you've been being," he begins with his voice laced with animosity. These first few words of what I predict to be a rather heated rant sting painfully.

When his eyes meet mine again, I almost flinch. His golden orbs are burning with such intensity, it's overwhelming. I'd never imagined that Hikaru would ever look at me the way he's looking at me now. I'd never _wanted_ to imagine it. If I'd known that our relationship would eventually take this drastic turn, I'd have surely shuddered in horror and protest that its inevitable occurrence would _never_ happen.

I'd never given the saying, 'expect the unexpected' much credibility until now.

"I've been watching you sulk about whatever the hell is bothering you for several weeks now. I'd always been under the impression that we were very close, Kaoru. Close enough that you'd find solace in talking to me about your problems. You've always come to me with your personal issues, and I'd always come to you, too. I always knew that if everything fell apart around me, you would help me reconstruct the pieces. I knew that you'd help, because when I'm not okay, you're not okay. I knew that, because I know how it feels when you're not alright. It…it doesn't feel good."

As his voice wavers slightly, I cross my arms behind my back and begin avidly rubbing at my wrist. I want to run away so badly, but I feel paralyzed under his stare.

I hate that his tone leaks the honesty and desperation I'd hoped would be absent in his speech. Doesn't he realize that he's only making things worse for both of us? I don't want to know the extent that I'm hurting him. The fact that he's voicing his thoughts and feelings only make them more real.

Until now, I'd been deluding myself into believing that his emotions were phantasmal, insignificant, and only the result of my paranoia. I'd wanted to believe that his concern for me could disappear at any moment, and that he'd forget about my inner turmoil. I'd believed that after his worry vanished, he would move on and find someone to make him happy. He'd find someone to fill the void that I'm leaving.

I think I'd only been setting myself up for disappointment. He isn't going to let this go. He cares too much, and even though that's the root of my problems, I hate to imagine Hikaru being aloof to the helplessness I've been feeling.

That is a large aspect of my problem. Even if I could get rid of it, I don't think I would. I'm weak. Because of that, I've allowed my attachment to my brother dominate me.

"This morning, when I woke up to the feeling of you in bed with me again, I thought that things had gone back to normal. I didn't, and still don't know what I did to make finding comfort in me so unappealing, but it really didn't matter at that moment."

I don't want to hear what he's saying. I don't want to know about the worry I've been causing, or the false hope I've been giving him.

I stumble and fall backward as I swiftly take a step away from him, wanting to leave as quickly as possible in fear that I'll hear something else I don't want to.

I fall at the foot of the stairs pathetically. To my horror, he walks toward my crumpled form until he's looming over me. He says nothing about my accident, but I can see in his expression that he's sorry he wasn't there to catch me this time.

I hate that I'm sorry, too.

His eyes quickly cloud over with determination once again, determination to get me to listen and understand. I don't _want_ to. It hurts to see the damage I'm creating.

"I thought we were okay. I thought that you'd decided to trust me again, to forgive me for whatever I did that crushed the thing between us that I'd never imagined could be possible for any other pair of siblings outside of our world."

I don't even recoil when he places his hand on my head, his fingers threaded through my hair. His words render me motionless. He has a gift for captivating me. He knows exactly what to say to get me to listen.

"And you left. And…it wasn't okay. I knew it wasn't okay yet."

He's close to me now, almost crouching down at my level. I hadn't noticed the small distance between us until now, my eyes having been focused on the slow and deliberate movement of his lips.

He knows that he can speak now, and that everything he says will be completely absorbed by me. It's obvious, because I haven't run away yet.

He speaks again, his voice just a whisper because I can hear him perfectly at the gentle, low volume of his voice.

"Tell me where my brother has gone. I miss him."

I can only stare blankly. My lips part, but nothing comes out.

A bead of water falls from the tip of a piece of his wet hair, onto my forehead. I feel it drip down my face quickly, swimming down to the left side of the slope of my nose, descending to my cheek and finally my chin. It drops here, falling on my knee because I've drawn my legs up against my body.

It brings me out of my trance. The curse of my temporary paralysis has been lifted.

I blindly grab for the banister in a panic, my legs propelling me upward without my conscious command to do so.

The aching in my knees and in my chest, especially, are ignored as I clumsily stumble backward, struggling to turn around so that I can properly go up the stairs.

I can't turn around. He's still staring at me, daring me to leave like this, and daring me to look away. He wants to see if I could actually find it in myself to do it.

I angle my body forward and fall to my hands and knees roughly. I can feel his eyes burning in the back of my skull as I claw my way up the stairs in a panicked frenzy.

I can almost hear what he's thinking.

_Quit running away._

_

* * *

_

_A/N: I don't really like the ending of this chapter._ ಠ_ಠ _Oh well. Thanks again, to any anonymous reviewers. :D Let me know what you thought of the update._

_Until next time; this is Laimiel, saying ja ne, ciao, au revoir, shalom, tot ziens, auf wiedersehen, goodbye, or whatever. Yeah._

_Whatever._

I think I'll stick with that one.

_As always, thanks for reading. :)_


	6. Light

S i x

_- Light -_

After several eventless moments of anxious anticipation, I conclude that Hikaru has decided to let me be alone.

I still remain against my door, my arms wrapped tightly around my legs, which are drawn up to my body again.

Even though I know he isn't even upstairs, I still use myself as a blockade for the door. He's still in the house, though, and I feel safer this way. With my door handle locked and all of my body weight against the heavy wood, his admittance into my room is impossible.

But he can still talk to me. He can still speak to me outside, in the hall. I'll be able to feel his breath against my neck, wafting through the small crack in the door…

I shake my head back and forth wildly, trying to get the thought to leave my head. I grit my teeth and begin rocking my curled up body gently. It helps clear my mind slightly. He's still downstairs right now, and that's all that matters.

But what if I didn't hear him? What if he's right here, right now? What if he can sense what I'm thinking and feeling through the thin barrier of my door?

_No. _No, I can't worry about that now. I have to focus on calming myself, because the adrenaline flooding my system and the panic it's giving me isn't helping in the least.

I'll stay here. I refuse to leave this exact spot until I'm absolutely certain that I'm safe from him.

_But am I ever really safe from him?_, I think. It's my own mind that's tormenting me. I have to remind myself that the source of the horrendous events that play in my head every night come from me. But accepting that those hellish nights are my fault and my fault only makes it harder. Putting the blame on him, even if it's for something so foolish as being angry because his mere existence is eliciting such disgusting responses in my subconscious, is the only thing I can think of to make the nightmares even the slightest bit bearable. I'll greedily take any shred of solace I can find, so long as it's _something_.

I desperately want to feel comfortable in my own skin again.

* * *

I couldn't stand to see them anymore. Logically, stripping my walls bare of anything I'd created and grown to be proud would only remind me of how much things have changed. But for me, the pictures plastered to the off-white walls surrounding me flooded my brain with memories at the past. Even if the memory hadn't been pleasant at the time, it seems to be now. Compared to my current state, everything seemed appealing.

Things were perfect. How could I have failed to realize that? I suppose I hadn't known how great things were, and how different they could so quickly become.

I remember when I'd relished the moments I'd spent with my brother. I was completely unconcerned, happy, and unafraid of anything. Hikaru was, too, naturally. We share so much more than just the flesh. Emotions have always been a large factor in our relationship as identical twin brothers.

That's why I've grown to hate every scrap of paper on my walls. It symbolizes what once was.

I can still feel the carelessness in my confident movements and the looseness in my wrist as it hovered over the paper, the gentle pressure my fingers exerted on the pencil, and the sound of graphite scraping softly against the smooth white.

It didn't matter if I'd ignored the conventional rules of dimension or perspective or if my shading was just a bit off. That had never factored into my personal idea of a perfect piece of art.

I gaze at them now, random patterns, faces, scenes, objects, and the occasional set of swirls and scribbles that didn't really have a rightful place in the hardened and logical minds of most individuals, regardless of age. The ability to see beauty in simple things has nothing to do with age. The idea that only children can see beyond the obvious and understand some abstract ideas that most adults can't is highly overrated to me.

_No one_ was ever able to place the reason for why some of the seemingly random objects in my so-called art had a place in my sketch book, and later, on my wall. No one had the ability to see what I saw as my pencil had danced wildly in the transcendental world of my precious book, filled with things no one could begin to understand.

No one, excluding Hikaru.

He understood. I knew he did, even though he'd never said it out loud. I saw it, and that was more than enough. I saw the flash of emotions flicker through his eyes, some of amusement at the quirkiness of some of my doodles, and some of awe. Though, I'd never understood that one. That was a response he'd usually have when viewing some of the things I was least proud of. But I was proud of them, nonetheless, because if I hadn't been, I would have never had allowed him to flip through the wrinkled and grey-smeared pages of my overused sketch book.

I can occupy my mind, thinking of this, as I rip the paper from my wall without a smidgen of care or gentleness. I'll only allow myself to think of these things now, to feel the over-stimulating emotions now. It helps numb the mild twinges of pain on my shaking hands. There are thin, red lines adorning my trembling fingers.

I've never felt so awake. I've never felt so _thankful _for feeling awake. I can avoid sleeping, for now. I'm almost sure it's because the anticipation of what I'm about to do has me more wired and alive than I've felt in a long while. It feels incredible. The sensation is highly concentrated throughout my whole trembling body, the excitement reaching even to the every end of my stinging fingertips.

I begin to clumsily pile the wrinkled sheets of paper on top of each other, quickly and inefficiently in my impatient haste.

There's a cessation in my spastic movements when my eyes fall on a particular drawing, one I'd completed nearly a year ago.

I remember memorizing everything there is to memorize about him, down to the way his smile tends to be slightly more prominent on the left side of his face.

That's another trait we don't share.

He'd never known I was watching, so intently trying to copy his features down onto paper perfectly.

I noticed that he had the tendency to pull either the right or the left side of his bottom lip into his mouth and begin gnawing on it softly whenever he'd be concentrating on something, drove by such a passionate force so rare in him, it was a wonder I'd caught it at all. I noticed how he would let his head loll back so that he was facing the ceiling whenever he was in deep thought. And whenever he'd do this, he would close his eyes, so that nothing gave away what he was contemplating. I noticed that he'd run his tongue along the surface of his teeth whenever food was mentioned by watching the subtle lump of the muscle protrude from the flesh slightly. I noticed the way he'd always hook the front of his left ankle around the back of his right whenever he was idle. I also noticed that it was never the opposite.

He's never been anything like me. That's why I knew the only way to create an accurate picture of him would be to study _his_ unique features and mannerisms.

I'd sometimes caught myself wanting to finish the picture with what I'd known to be true about myself, but it would never work out well. My sketch of him would be a failure if I wasn't patient enough to wait for an opportunity to observe him subtly, but intensely.

That's what I did. I finished it, and I'd honestly never been happier with anything I'd ever done. It was special; it was intimate. That's why I'd never allowed Hikaru to see it. I didn't want to scare him. I knew that I would if he'd discovered I knew of some of the peculiar quirks he possessed that even he probably wasn't aware of.

And so, he remained oblivious to my proudest achievement. Part of me longed to show him what I'd done, to show him what he'd inspired. I craved his approval, but I'd been so sure that I wouldn't earn it, that picture was torn from my sketch book and fumblingly stuck to my wall with Scotch tape, never to be gazed upon by the only one whose opinion really mattered. It was obscurely hidden beneath many of my other creations, of course, but it was still there. That's all I needed. He was there, even when I was too afraid to seek him out by myself when I'd needed him most. He was on my wall, always there. Unwaveringly, always unfading, consistently _there_.

My throat feels tight, and my eyes begin to sting, and I know that I can't look at the creased piece of paper clutched within my shaking fingers any longer.

I'm still in today's outfit, save for my socks and shoes. My feet are bare and the cool air is chilling them, even in here. I still have my jacket. I realize, now, how pathetic I must look with it hanging so loosely over my bony, tense shoulders, the rest of the fleece fabric draped over my thinning form like a cheap blanket. It doesn't cling to me, like it used to. It doesn't keep me warm.

I know that the cold is coming from inside of me, though, so there's no point in searching my disorganized room for something to protect me from the iciness that has a tighter hold on me than my own skin.

I bring my fisted hands against my chest. I can feel my heart beating rather spastically underneath the wrinkled papers against the thin cotton of my shirt.

As I force my legs to move, the vibrations that the wild muscle underneath my rib cage is making only quickens, and the warmth I expect to be filled with because of the excessive blood-pumping isn't there.

The hallway seems much more longer and narrow than I remember. I don't know where Hikaru's room is. The illogical warping the house seems to have been forced to sustain hasn't included Hikaru's room in its new architectural design.

I ignore the pang of anxiety that seeps through my trembling bones at the thought of his place in our home not existing, and force my ill-defined leg muscles to propel myself further in the stifling darkness the night has imposed upon the house.

The end of the seemingly endless expanse of the hallway is near. I can see a dim, golden glimmer near the stairs. I realize that someone has probably put up the Christmas tree, and the tiny lights adorning it are the source of the comforting contrast to the dark.

I find myself drifting almost effortlessly down the soft, carpeted steps. The light is a beacon. Its gentle glow grows more and more vivid with every movement of descent I make.

I make it to the bottom all too quickly, as my pace had significantly quickened in my haste to see what beauty awaits me.

The first image that I see, startlingly clear, yet fleeting, is Hikaru's lithe form darting around the Christmas tree as he plants the seeds, which come conveniently packaged and strung together on a single thick strand full of electric wires, for the brilliance that the small glass bulbs would predictably create. I see the box of spherical tree ornaments at his feet, gold and red and coated with glitter. I see him placing these on the artificial branches with gentle care, his fingers littered with bright yellow and crimson-colored sparkles. I can see his face and all of the concern and anger from before drained away, replaced with an expression of intense concentration. I see the edge of lip drawn in his mouth that gives the vigorous activity in his brain away. I see his smile forming--small, and yet it alights his whole face--as he steps back, gazes at what he's done, and allows the mini explosion of pride within him to show on the small quirk at the edge of his lips.

This hallucination vanishes almost as soon as it appears. I want to see it a little longer, and a still do, in a way. The jovial and spirited air around the tree is heavily present.

I know that it was nothing more than my imagination. He, of course, wouldn't go to the trouble to decorate a the tree so magnificently by himself. He would have had one of the maids purchase and set the thing up, if it really mattered that much to him; and I fail to see why it would.

I rip my gaze from the lavish sight before me. I can't deny that I'm highly disinclined to do so; I don't think anyone, no matter how frozen-hearted or emotionally distant, would want to waste a moment looking at any object other than this beautiful and sumptuous spectacle.

My eyes fall to the heavy mass to my left, situated upon the equally heavy hearth.

It hasn't been used yet this year. It's hardly ever used, actually. The gas fireplace proved to be much more efficient than the wood burning stove, and yet my parents still keep it around. I'm almost certain that it's simply for show. I have to admit, it does look antique and rather regal. The intricate designs engraved deeply in the heavy stone it's made of has a resplendent feel about it. Its otherwise meaningless presence makes up almost all of the overall mood of the large room.

I've never cared for it, and had ignored it even as an adventurous and inquisitive child. It was never worth any looking into, and I hadn't ever spared it more than a moment's glance as I'd went on exploring everything in the vast world I'd been born into, with my brother.

My eyes fall closed for a moment, and I feel the desire to discover things with him as we'd done all the time, with each other, growing up.

I exhale softly, as I'd been unconsciously holding my breath.

The box of matches gets more distinct as I move forward. Interesting, that there is a box of matches resting on the wooden mantle. They wouldn't be of any use, and yet they sit there, innocently, and conveniently for me.

It's heavy in my trembling hand. I can feel the heavy blanket of dust on it, and the transfer of it onto my fingers.

I try, feebly, to open it with only my right hand. Logic screams at me to give up; tells me that it won't work if I do it this way, but I don't listen. I only hear the small whimper of raw desperation that escapes my lips.

I'm snapped out of my battle with the match box when I feel the large bunch of papers slip from my hand and land at my feet. I don't know how it's possible that it happened, with my vice-like grip. Perhaps my attention wasn't equally divided between that and my current objective.

Whatever the reason, both of my hands are free now.

I have to told back the scream of frustration that fights to break free when I see the mess spread out around my feet. I ignore it, though, and focus at the task at hand.

I've had to ignore many things recently, such as the temptation to go to Hikaru when I'm not feeling alright, my animalistic and immoral urges, and the irritating dust layered thickly on my fingers.

It's difficult, even with the aid of both hands. My vision has become blurry, the stinging from the paper cuts is painful, and I can't keep my pallid hands from shaking.

I finally wretch the lid off, feeling a surge of pride as I do so. And then I feel embarrassment and shame for feeling that senseless pride. This is what it's come to; the brief emotions of joy come to me for nonsensical reasons. This is how desperate I'm becoming.

It's startlingly barren, except for two small matches. Two small matches, with only the company of each other for who knows how long. I grip one, unsurely, between my red-tinged thumb and forefinger.

There's something about the presence of wood in the fireplace, and even the matches, that intrigues me. It is, to my knowledge, never used. I suppose I'd made a mistake in that assumption. It's only natural, though, as the warmth of this old piece of furniture has never touched me. That makes me wonder; who has it touched? Had it, at one point in its lifetime, been in the company of a family? Had it had the luxury of warming the small group they were a part of? Had it ever rekindled the love and devotion they felt for each other that was probably already consistently there, anyway?

If that's the case, I can attest that it was never my family.

My vision is irritatingly blurred. The bright red head of the match and the stark white of my hand are the only two things I can focus on at the moment. I guess, when taking into consideration what my concept of reality is right now, it is blurry, like my vision.

I place the vividly bright edge of match against the striker, timidly, and begin to slowly drag it against the rough surface. Predictably, nothing results from the weak pressure my digits are exerting. Just a quiet, dry, scratching sound is the only thing I have to show for my pathetic attempt.

I try again, with a bit more force. I'm rewarded with the same thing as I was just a moment ago.

Nothing.

The small match is beginning to feel heavy, and I struggle not to drop it and forget this altogether. I have to do this, though. This could be the beginning of the ending of this nightmare for me, providing that there is an end. This is my goodbye to the boy I was, and to the young man he grew to be. This is the metaphorical obliteration of my muse, my sin, my brother.

I strike it again, thinking of this and riding the emotions thrown at me with stubbornness and contempt, because I _can_ do this.

A brilliant flame blooms beautifully and unexpectedly. It's a bright, blinding yellow. I can feel it bathe my hand in its warmth, which is steadily growing hotter because of the oppressive heat.

I throw it, mainly instinctually, into the open mouth of the fireplace.

I'm disappointed when I see that it doesn't explode into a luminous mass of yellow and orange. But it catches, slowly and calmly. Suddenly, I don't feel the compulsion to make this moment as quick and brief as possible. I have the feeling that all the time in the world is disposable for me, and that I can breathe, if only for a moment.

I mean to descend gracefully to the ground, but unfortunately, that isn't what happens. It feels as if the firmness in my joints have completely dissolved and liquefied, leaving me unable to stand anymore.

I land quickly, my body sprawled in an awkward half-sitting, half-lounging position. Though the carpet had cushioned my fall somewhat, I still feel an aching in my backside and a dull throbbing at the base of my spine.

Luckily, the dazzling brightness in the once dark cavern of the fireplace distracts me from my physical discomfort. I only have eyes for the beauty growing before me. It's completely captivated my mind, and it's all I can do to focus on the task at hand.

The papers are still scattered around my form in a disordered fashion. I propel my body forcefully, as my mental exhaustion is wearing on me physically, to a sitting position. I force my spine to become erect as I draw my legs close to my body. I end up slouching again and my back has formed into an uncomfortable bow, but I can't bring myself to care about that.

I gaze at my hand with interest as I reach for one of the crumpled papers near my feet. It's never felt so warm. It's never glowed dimly like this. It's never felt so loosely contained in the heated flesh that prettily dresses the muscles, tendons, and blood underneath the surface. This is so surreal, so dreamlike and fanciful, and it's nudging me to topple over the last piece of sanity I possess.

I've never been drunk, as I've never actually seriously contemplated inhibiting my ability to think clearly, but I think this is what it feels like. This delusion, this displacement…it's the gift I'm certain alcohol would give me. Maybe it wouldn't grant someone else that, but I know exactly what would happen to me.

My head begins to feel heavy, strangely, as I look at my hand grappling blindly for that wrinkled piece of paper.

_Things are going to seem deluded when I wake up from this state_, I realize. It's odd to believe that a logical thought slipped through my sluggish, nearly nonfunctioning mind. I didn't think such a thing was possible.

Everything seems so saturated with something so much deeper than a more vivid color, or a more textural feel. I don't know what has triggered the growth of the vivacity of everything in my surroundings, and I honestly don't care to find out.

I can feel the smoothness of the crisp paper in my hand, which had inexplicably been spared from the roughness the others of its kind had sustained.

I lean forward lethargically and my spine quietly pops from the pressure. I don't even bother to look at what's on the paper in my hand as I extend my arm as far as I can to the mouth of hot destruction.

I deposit it quickly because I can feel the flames beginning to attack my hand, and it's beginning to burn. It's swallowed, slowly, by the orange and yellow and white. It curls in on itself, darkening around the edges, which spreads over the whole yellowing paper and into the heart of it.

It's gone, forever. Even if I tried to replicate it, which I won't, it would never be a copy of what just disappeared before my eyes. It can't even be remembered because I hadn't bothered with looking at it before destroying it.

I gradually snap out of my trance and my eyes leave the object of my undivided attention to the trash that's still spread out around me. These faces and objects will not see tomorrow, the next day, or any of the remaining moments of time's existence. There is no yearning within me to save what was once so special. There is no desire to save the things that once meant so much. All traces of the sentiment that once flooded through me are completely drained. They're nothing but a vague memory. Even so, the past feelings are washing through me in the form of phantom emotions.

Trying to ignore the passing subjective response to the things I wish I don't feel that I'm losing, I blindly grab behind me in search of the rest. My fingers tighten around a fairly large pile this time, and without thinking, I angle my body forward and release them from my grip in one fluid movement.

They begin to wither into nothing, but before they completely fade from existence, the last of it glows dimly as a signal to its vanishing life and a final goodbye.

I easily push the troublesome emotions that are bubbling to the surface away and watch the display with cold patience and indifference.

I'm feeding the flames well, and it's growing. It's comfortably warm, which is a dramatic contrast to the bone-chilling cold I'd been experiencing only minutes ago. I still don't feel well, though, because I feel like what's heating me is wrong. It's destruction; it's death. Death is cold and unfeeling, and yet, I'm being provided with warmth because of it. And I absorb it, gluttonously, and try to forget what this particular heat signifies. It warms my flesh, but it chills my bones.

My arms mechanically feed more memories to the fire, and I look on with the same detachment. That's not to say that I'm not deeply fascinated by this, though. How can something so beautiful be so violently destructive? It's the epitome of a contradiction.

After I've completed my task, my brain feels much clearer. Thoughts are more precise and logical and my senses decrease back to normal levels.

It's because of this clear-headedness that I can see one of the last things to burn. I can see the edge of his face steadily being devoured by the flames; I can see the main difference between us. He, being tarnished and darkened in places by ash and lightened in places by fire. He, fading into nothing and leaving a gaping absence amongst my creations that are utterly meaningless in comparison. And I, staring at this death, my cheeks flushed and my eyes sparkling with enthrallment and liveliness. It's because it's trying to come through, that passion that had long been buried deep within me, and I don't have the power to stop it.

And suddenly, that rapture wilts and dies without warning when my ears pick up the barely audible soft intake air. That quiet sound, and the short gasp that follows it cause me to instinctively crane my head behind me, where I'm sure I could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over the back of my feeling is different from the artificial comfort the fire has been providing me with. This causes uncomfortable tremors to travel throughout my body. It's predominantly in my arms, drifting to my fingertips, racing down my spine and shooting down my trembling legs. This warmth, unlike the effect of the bright warmth in front of me, seeps into my bones and creates a peculiar sensation of such glacial iciness that it's almost painful.

It isn't so much that faint sensation that leaves me shivering, as it is what my eyes are feeding my brain to process. It is unable to, predictably. I lose my grasp on reality, for just a moment, because there's only one thing I can see, one thing I can think about, and one thing that I'll always grudgingly put above everything else.

His eyes are shimmering. They're wide, bright, and lack any semblance of the humor usually shining within them. I can only look at his eyes because they're not on me. They're focused solely on the brilliant violence in front of my slightly shaking form, so intensely that I doubt he remembers my presence in the room.

I can't help but wonder, as I gaze in a sort of broken awe at the moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes, if he'd seen the last of my regrets dying. I can't help but wonder if he'd seen that sketch, the one he'd never seen and the one I'd been most proud of, moments before its disintegration. And I can't help but wonder, as I find myself on my feet and the air rushing in my face, why he isn't coming after me like he'd always done in the past.

* * *

_A/N: Was that sort of cliffhanger? I think so._

_I don't know why I'm answering my own questions._

_I suck at describing fire. I've never had much of an interest in it, which is why I don't know anything about it other than it tends to be hot. If the fire was OOC, I apologize._

._.

_How much do _you_ think Hikaru saw? :o_

_This is irrelevant, BUT: If someone would be so kind as to tell me the significance of the number 69, it would be mucho appreciated. I just keep seeing it everywhere and people are always referring to it. I think it has some sexual connotation, but other than that, I have no idea what it means. I feel like such a loser, being in the dark about it._

_Reviews are like dog biscuits to me. They like, make me do tricks and stuff. It's too bad you can't see my tricks. But review anyway? :D_


	7. Snow

S e v e n

_- Snow -_

It seems that finally, the little sleep I've been getting is wearing on me. It was bound to happen soon, with waking frequently during the long, tireless nights and my developing insomnia. My eyes are half-lidded and heavy, my senses are dulled tremendously, and my muscles are so limp, I feel like a boneless mass of flesh in my chair.

The only thing keeping me awake is the feeling of his eyes burning into me and the spark of adrenaline it forces through my lifeless body in response.

I know he wants to talk with me. Strangely, there's a small niggling in my mind that brings about a desire of my own to speak with him. Though the blatant dread I feel regarding a conversation with him overwhelmingly outweighs that, it's still significant enough that it's impossible to ignore.

I want to know why he let me run away last night. Hikaru would never normally tolerate that, because he hates being left clueless. He needs an explanation for everything, and if there isn't one available, he makes it his mission to find one. Is it that he'd already had his answer, last night? Is that why he didn't require me to explain, because he already knew? And if that's the case, how could he know? How could he know what those pictures meant to me, and how such seemingly happy memories could sadden me?

The possibility that I'm simply just easy for him to read frightens me greatly. That fear helps keep me awake, fortunately, because my psyche has begun to associate fear with the feeling I'm flooded with every time I awake. Every time I awake, I stay awake. This means that the probability of falling asleep in class, mid-lecture, is thankfully quite low.

He's staring intently at me; I can feel it. His gaze hasn't shifted once since class began, and I know that without looking. There's a part of me, the part that is upset and angry at myself for doing this to him, that urges me to return his stare. There's a small hope that the answer to the previous questions to myself lie in his eyes.

Maybe he can tell me, without opening his mouth, what the solution to my problem is. It should make sense that the answer lies somewhere in the source of my problem, right? Isn't that where I should start solving it? My previous method of simply ignoring it doesn't seem to be working, so maybe I can take this route. Maybe facing things head on and staring my problem directly in the face, quite literally, is the beginning of the ending to my exhaustive efforts in finding a way out of the discomfort my dreams have brought me.

So I surrender to my frivolous whims, my motivation being sheer desperation and the simple, selfish desire to see if anything has changed in him since last night.

When I slowly angle my head to the right and lock gazes with my brother for the first time in awhile, I immediately see that things _have_changed. He holds the same expression has last night, sans the moisture shimmering in his eyes. I feel myself beginning to mirror his expression. I can't help it.

He doesn't need to speak the words that I'm certain are brimming behind his subtle frown. He doesn't have to ask through his voice what happened last night, or if what he had the misfortune of seeing was a hallucination or not. I can see it, in the depths of his eyes, the eyes that aren't his, but that of a lost and confused little boy's.

I, with my own eyes, try to convey to him that I'm so deeply sorry that he's been sucked into this. But I don't have any regrets, other than allowing our act to go on longer than it should have. Presented with the opportunity to go back and change things, I would not utilize it. Though I deeply hate doing this, it needs to be done. I'd known that distancing myself from him would be hard, but admittedly, I wasn't prepared for it to be difficult to this extent.

Thinking of this, as I stare at him with an expression of dueled desolation, I desperately wish to let all the tears and screaming out that I've been keeping in. I want to embrace him, and say that I'm sorry for doing this. I want to feel his arms around me like they so often were before this happened. I want to snuggle in his warmth and be sure that there will be no negative repercussions of this impulsive act, and that I can sleep peacefully and uninterrupted tonight.

I don't do these things, simply because I cannot do so without those repercussions. Instead, I keep his gaze unwaveringly and hope that he can read me as well as I can read him right now.

Unfortunately, I don't detect any evidence on his face of dawning comprehension. He's still silently asking the questions I can't give him the answer to, mostly because _I_ have no idea what the answer is.

There's confusion, underlying frustration, and concern that I can see. I don't know which one of these emotions compels him to do what I think he may be doing, as my eyes skittishly dart from his face to his hand and the arm attached to it, rising slowly from his side as if he's afraid of frightening an abandoned puppy curled up in the recesses of a cardboard box.

My hand, lying resolutely on my black notebook, is shaking almost imperceptibly. I know he can see it, though. He thinks he can still its spastic movements. I want to scream at him, to tell him that he's just not getting it. He's not recognizing what I'm trying to do; he's not understanding why I've been behaving the way I've been behaving.

My hand does still, the moment I feel his own encapsulating it. But it isn't because of what he's thinking of. I'm petrified. The warmth of his hand in my own, and the soft feeling of his fingers lacing through mine, renders my mind completely and utterly useless. I can only process the sensation of him. I can't pull away like my brain is screaming at me to do because of this. It's because my body is stronger than my mind right now, and this feels so foreign and peculiar that I have to maintain physical contact to assess this fully and find out what this means and if it feels pleasant or unpleasant.

His hand looks taut underneath mine, but nothing compared to my own, which is so tense that the muscles look positively knotted. Between his fingers, where my flesh isn't being obstructed, the tendons below my knuckles are protruding slightly underneath the pale flesh. It still isn't trembling, but that doesn't take away his attention to the anxiety that's rolling off of me in waves. I can tell that he's experiencing feelings akin to my own.

I chance a look into his eyes once more, and hope to whatever supreme deity that claims power over the universe that I can handle something as simple as that.

I'm frightened by what I see lurking in those oddly-colored orbs. They've probably never looked as similar to mine as they do now, with unhidden anxiety dominating anything else he may be feeling at this moment. I inwardly shudder at the sight of his undisguised distress, which is significantly more raw and concentrated than it was last night, even with the absence of tears.

My blood runs cold at this sight, and I avert my gaze with little difficulty. He tightens his grip on my hand in response. The dysphoria I feel at this simple action is indescribable. The air leaves my heaving lungs in a rush. He thinks he can calm me by giving me more of what's destroying me from the inside, because he just doesn't understand. If he can't understand with the subtle messages I've been trying to give him, he never will.

It's too much when he begins to slowly rub circular shapes in my palm as a method of getting me to feel calm. It would have worked, assuming that my state of mind hadn't changed at all through these few weeks, but that is far from the case. This sensation, which is received so much more heartily by my nerves than the ghost of the feeling in my dreams, sends me in a panic. It turns on the switch to my logic, and my brain sends my limbs a message.

I withdraw my hand from his forcefully. It doesn't take a great deal of physical effort because at the first sign of my retraction, he loosens his grip.

The hurt and a small look of betrayal on his face breaks me inside. It's Hikaru who breaks eye contact with me this time, as he turns his figure aside, which is shaking just slightly, and picks his bag off of the floor.

I'm shaken out of my daze at the sudden movement of him standing up and lazily slinging his bag over his shoulder. That's when I realize that class has ended. I hadn't heard a word, or the dismissal, for that matter.

I follow a good few feet behind him. I can't see his face, but his jerky movements and the tight grip his has on the strap of the messenger bag across his chest tell me more than I want to know.

* * *

My attention is completely consumed with the change in Hikaru's mannerisms and the spark of life in his eyes that I was sure I'd regretfully killed.

I had to see what had so suddenly occupied his attention. I wanted to know why he suddenly stopped walking while the sea of other students rushed on by, while he remained captivated by the window.

The number of people mingling around is steadily diminishing as they go to their destinations, and Hikaru continues to remain motionless in his spot, gazing fixedly out of the small window in the hallway.

I had to see it. I had to see what transformed him so drastically, what undid the damage I'd inflicted, if only temporarily.

That's why I'm here, beside him, watching the frost-covered grass get littered with slowly descending snowflakes. My eyes perceive absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. From here, I can see the courtyard that used to bring out some sparks of sentimentality out in me. The water isn't frozen, but I know that it will be soon. The familiar pink lotus flower is delicately blanketed in a thin sheen of frost. It doesn't sparkle in an overtly beautiful and brilliant way, but it does possess a certain subtle beauty. It makes it look more fragile. I can honestly say that I preferred it the way I'd last seen it. The faint glittering is in no way appealing to me, as it probably would be, in contrast, to anyone else.

My eyes tentatively wander to Hikaru when I give up searching for whatever he's looking at. He's still clearly dazzled by something.

I don't have to verbally request an explanation. It never fails to awe me, how he's so attuned with my thoughts.

"It's this year's first snow." he murmurs distantly, his eyes never moving from the scene through the lightly fogged glass of the window. I continue to wonder what's so astounding about it as my eyes roll to the ceiling in thought. He's never been overly sentimental about anything, but still, that isn't the most confusing part about it. It's the _weather_. There's nothing extraordinary about it. He's lived through many winters, not once ever put in such a state of wonderment by the season or any specific aspects about it. I don't understand why this is so different.

"Kaoru," he says so quietly, the only way I know he's said my name is by keeping my gaze on his profile and watching his mouth form the word. "I don't want to watch this through the window. I'd like to be right where it's happening...and, I want you to go with me."

He turns to me as he says this, and for a moment, all I can think of is what an accomplishment it must be for him to tear his stare away from the display before him. And then I see the spark of something in his eyes, something I hadn't noticed by just looking at the side of his face. A shiver crawls up my spine at the sight. It's something I haven't seen for a long time. It's only now that I realize how much I've missed it. I don't want it to go away by denying his odd request, even though logically, I know that spending any time with him alone could only be detrimental to my sleep, or lack of sleep, anyway.

But to watch that childish excitement die, to see that small glimmer of happiness disappear at my doing, it would be...unbearable. I have attachments that aren't severed, and unfortunately, I don't think that will change.

Giving into my dangerous desire to see happiness bloom on his face after such a long time of depriving both myself and him of it, I reply to him with the most foolish of the two options I've been given.

"Okay." I tell him, almost inaudibly. My voice is hoarse from disuse, and even a bit quieter than the volume he had used, but it's obvious that he knows what I've said. He allows a small grin to cross his face, one that conveys just as much or more happiness than a smile from ear to ear would. His eyes, glowing with unadulterated bliss, has to be the most influential aspect of his reaction for me.

I know that I shouldn't do this. I'll most likely end up punishing myself for it later, but it's worth it. Watching this, the first glimpse of happiness in both myself and him, leaves my lips slightly parted in awe. It makes every nerve in my body tingle pleasantly. My mind can't keep up with my body's reactions, and for a moment, I forget everything but the undisguised delight on my brother's face.

He casts a fleeting glance at the window again before walking the other way, toward the school doors. He looks behind himself before he's even taken two steps, to make sure that I'm following. My legs carry me toward him in a familiar path. This is just one of the countless times I've trailed after him.

I think that it will be a long while before Hikaru gives up on me, if ever. He's so stubborn. It's one of his most dominant traits, and also something I, personally, am not endowed won't be attending the Host Club today. He hadn't even notified any of its members of his absence. I'm surprised by this because he's so devoted to the Host Club. I suppose from the perspective of anyone, it would appear that I was a devoted member, as well. I was only devoted to Hikaru, and I participated in the club because he liked it. The truth is that I'm a skilled actor, and no one noticed that my enthusiasm for the club was fueled only by my brother's.

I'm a bit relieved we're doing this in between classes, quickly enough that any fans of the Host Club won't have much of an opportunity to interrogate me about my obvious lack of participation in Host Club activities. It would have surely been noticed by , I wonder if Hikaru is doing this with the knowledge of the questions his impulsive actions tomorrow will inevitability rouse. No one will be happy about his spontaneous disappearance. I'm still anticipating an interrogation from anyone at the Host Club that must have noticed my lack of participation. I'm not sure why I've gotten away with it thus far, to be honest.I won't worry about it. It's just a small thought, so insignificant that I can easily push it in the back of my mind for later assessment.

I watch as Hikaru's hands descend to his pockets, withdrawing a pair of black gloves. I wonder if he brings them everywhere with him during the colder months as I watch him dress his hands, wiggling his fingers a bit to fit into their designated areas snuggly.

He glances back at me to see that I'm about half a step away from him, that I haven't moved against my best interest, and grins crookedly before trekking further. That lopsided smile is one I've seen many times, and not once does it lose an ounce of its authenticity. It makes the edges of my lips quirk in response for a blissful moment.

My mind is still whirling with the possibilities of why he wants to witness the snow first-hand as I dutifully follow him, but the always present doubt prevents me from thinking about that subject too much. I'm afraid that I'm getting too close to crossing the limits I've set for myself.

The shock of cool air comes as a surprise. Being completely immersed in my thoughts, I hadn't realized the door closing behind me. It's a lot colder than any other day has been this year, save for the January days, of course. I suddenly wish that I had brought something warmer than a light jacket.

It's odd to think that the last time I'd done this was when I was running away from my problem. I'm walking beside him now, wanting a coat and desperately wishing that Hikaru would tell me why he wants to see the snow fall so badly.

I chance a look at him, hoping that something on his face will reveal anything about his seemingly senseless actions.

He looks so exhilarated, I'm quite certain that the flush on his cheeks isn't just from the cold. He's excited. So excited, so happy, and so pure. I feel out of place, walking beside him. I'm ashamed, and I would like nothing more than to leave him so that he can absorb the beauty of this, the beauty only he sees, without a barrier.

There's something about snow that makes everything seem silent. I can distinctly hear the soft sound of our breathing and the dull scraping sound our shoes make on the pavement as we shuffle slightly.

"Kaoru..."

The smooth sound of his voice breaks my train of thought. I'm disappointed to see that his smile is gone, on both his mouth and in his eyes.

"Yeah?" I answer tentatively, afraid of what he's about to say. If the upcoming subject can so easily change his pleasant mood, I certainly don't want to talk about whatever it is that he's trying to bring up.

We walk out of the school entrance, officially off campus, before he answers. It feels like we're the only two people in the world to me. The school and all of its inhabitants are behind us, and not a soul is in our general vicinity. It puts me on edge, rather than giving me some sense of peace, like I'd foolishly expected it would have.

"What happened last night?" he asks me, looking deep in my eyes for the answer he'll never get.

I shiver, partially from the cold and partially from the mental image of last night that weaves its way in my mind. I suddenly feel colder. I feel like the unwanted drop in temperature is coming from inside me rather than from the weather.

I should've prepared for this. Of course he would ask. He just hadn't until now, simply because it hadn't been convenient. I suddenly realize that he brought me out here because of that. Of course he wouldn't care about the snow. His only motive was to question me.

I'm suddenly very angry. I had been blaming him for the nightmares when I'd known they weren't even his fault for my own sake, but now, I have a reason. It isn't necessary to force myself to utilize this opportunity. The anger at being deceived comes naturally and ruthlessly.

"I'd rather not talk about it." I grumble childishly. I won't open up for anybody, especially him. If I can't fix this myself, no one can. There's no point in confiding in anyone if it won't benefit me in any way. I'll save myself the mortification by remaining silent.

Hikaru suddenly grows irritated in response, his eyebrows knitting and his gloved hands clenched into fists. It's unfortunate, how our emotions are always changing in sync. It's especially troublesome at this point in my life. I've been putting a great deal of effort into being evasive. Hikaru can pick up on that, and grows more attuned to me in response. Whether it's intentional on his part or not, it doesn't matter. Either way, I can't change the empathetic nature we have for each other.

"No, Kaoru. We're going to talk about it. Everyone at the Host Club is worried. I can't appease them much longer with pathetic lies and excuses. I'm...I'm worried about you, too, and I'm determined to make sure that it doesn't end the way it did the last time I tried to figure out why you've been acting so unlike yourself."

I can't find it in myself to care about what the Host Club thinks. I've never had much of an attachment to them...just Hikaru. Everything about him has concerned me, from his thoughts and opinions, down to his mood and feelings.

Listening to him speak, I notice that he says the last part in a peculiarly soft tone, unlike his previous edge of irritation. Still, that doesn't lessen the resentment I purposefully emphasize in the angry string of words that next leave my lips.

"There's nothing you can do about it. I'll just...I'll fix it on my own, and I'll be fine. You can't help me." I snap, and then I realize that I've admitted that there _is_ something out of the ordinary with me. Of course he didn't need me to affirm that, since he already knew, but when I say it on my own, it's different. I told him that there's something to fix. Any hope of getting out of this without his meddling has been shattered because of my carelessness.

Of course, he's picked up on my unfortunate slip.

"What will you fix, Kaoru?" he demands, the gentleness in his eyes betraying his harsh tone. I shiver involuntarily under his heated gaze, but it doesn't do anything to warm me.

As I frantically search for an excuse, his stare drops to my sides. I want to ask him what he's looking at, but I get my answer when he reaches forward and takes my hands in his own.

"You didn't bring anything warm to wear. I thought warming your hands would help." he mumbles, a bit abashedly. It makes me tremble even more with the soft, warm feeling of his fingers lacing through my own for the second time today.

The clammy hand that had its tight and chilling grip on me ever since the moment I'd stepped outside loosens its hold on me and leaves to haunt some other unfortunate victim.

That's why it feels so comfortable when he grips his gloved hands in my exposed ones. He looks anxious, waiting for my reaction. Since I haven't got one planned, and because I like that his touch makes warmth reach every inch of my body instead of just my hands, I don't pull mine from his own.

He doesn't expect me to answer his previous question just yet, for which I'm grateful. He knows he's caught me by surprise and that all of my thoughts have been scattered by his unexpected action, not that they hadn't been before.

This feels different than how it does in my nightmares. His touch was always exciting and pleasurable, yes, but his fingers had always left a chilling trail in their wake. This is so incredibly different that the images of my nightmares aren't conjured up because of it.

This makes me frightened because I'm getting too used to this. I can't. The aversion I've been feeling is necessary, just like pain is. Without physical pain, one would be hurting themselves all the time and not even know it. They may die, painlessly, and not even be aware.

I have to be aware, no matter how unpleasant it is. I won't see the end of this if I grow accustomed to it.

Pulling my hands from his forcibly, against my body's wishes, I avert my eyes to the falling snow behind Hikaru. The ground is already covered in a thin layer of fluffy white. It reminds me of Christmas, and the beautiful display I'd seen in the family room last night.

I want to ask him if he's the one that set it up and decorated it, but the words that leave my mouth have nothing to do with the subject on my mind. It shouldn't matter that much, anyway.

"I'm going home." I murmur. I'm fairly certain that he'll go to the Host Club, since we haven't been gone long and he can probably still make it for most of whatever events are taking place there today.

Unfortunately, that assessment is incorrect. As I begin walking in the general direction of our house, I can hear a pair of footsteps sounding with mine.

I glance at him, only to find that he's been looking at me. I can see his stare through the snow-dampened locks of red hair falling in his face.

"I'll go with you." he whispers, his cheeks flushing prettily in saying so. There's something about the backdrop of the snow that makes him seem paler, so I can see the small rush of blood to his face quite clearly. It makes my face feel slightly warmer in response.

I can't stop him from following me, so I say nothing as I face forward and avoid looking at him for the rest of the walk.

I don't know if I can evade his questions much longer.

* * *

_A/N: I just barely edited this, and I'm waaay tired. Since I suck at editing stuff anyway, I may have made more errors than usual. Also, my blood circulation is horrible today, and my hands feel cold and stiff. That might have made me hit the wrong keys or push down on the keys longer than necessary. I apologize if I fucked something up._

I want to think everyone who reviewed again. It means so much to me. I love it when you take the time to share your thoughts in a review. :)


	8. Clean

E i g h t

_- Clean -_

Either Hikaru is beginning to get less predictable, or I'm losing my edge. I'm willing to bet that it's the latter.

The house is the same. It's familiar, but not comfortingly so. There's still the silence, the unpleasant kind. The silence snow brings is much more favorable. This silence feels lonely and..._old_. The repetition of coming home to this, to the sound of _nothing_ is sickening. I wonder if Hikaru's ears are ringing because of it, too. It would be refreshing to know that I'm not the only one who's so tired of this, almost to the point of being ill.

The Christmas tree still stands proudly. The lights are off, which makes me wonder who went to the trouble kill their radiance. Maybe Hikaru had been feeling especially bitter last night and had decided to do it. I shiver at the thought, and my eyes unwillingly drift to the fireplace.

There the evidence sits, in hideously black and gray ash blanketing every inch of the metal area. I feel nauseous looking at it.

I bring my wrist to the thumb of my other hand instinctively, bent on digging deep into the flesh with just the soft surface of the pad of my thumb.

I hope Hikaru isn't looking at it.

I all but run up the stairs, my snow-covered shoes dampening the otherwise unmarred carpet. I don't hear him following me. I don't hear a sound, other than my own labored breaths as I stumble across the threshold of my room.

I purposefully keep my head tilted down. I'm afraid of looking at the walls, and seeing what no longer decorates the four off-white expanses that used to be so vivid and covered with life.

My ears perceive the soft sound of his footsteps, and for a moment, I'm both nervous and frighteningly hopeful. The nervousness is to be expected, but the same cannot be said for the hope. Even though the niggling and always present curiosity is making it difficult, I won't analyze the reason for the unexpected anticipation. There's an eerie foreboding that smothers the inquisitive part of me, and so I don't dwell on the unwanted emotion.

I don't dwell on the disappointment, either, at the fading sound of his footsteps as he walks away from my door, or as I hear him walk into his own room.

My legs sluggishly bring me to my bed, not even bothering to take my shoes off, as I feel a headache beginning to form somewhere deep inside my cranium. It's getting harder and harder to function, with the little sleep I've been getting. Despite the fact that my bedding feels cold and unwelcoming, the yearning for sleep overpowers that and I let out a low sigh of content as I slump lazily against the headboard.

The dull images of my room that my half-lidded eyes perceive are hazy. I strain against the heaviness of my eyelids, fighting the monster of sleep is as it sneakily creeps up on me.

My body slowly slips down from its reclining position. My warmth is being absorbed by the soft cotton, and it feels much more comfortable than it had with the initial contact. The feeling of the soft comforter somewhere underneath me, molding into every curve and crevice of my body, is heavenly.

Either my eyes are closed, and I'm seeing fleeting images dance behind my eyelids, or I've still managed, by some miracle, to keep them open. It's most likely the former. I surprise myself with my apathetic attitude toward the revelation. It's possible that sleep deprivation has robbed me of the ability to care, if only just temporarily. That leaves me feeling grateful, even though I know, in the back of my mind, that I'll regret allowing myself to fall into sleep's warm arms. But it feels so _good_ to be cradled in those arms again.

I can see his red hair, splayed across his forehead, dampened with perspiration. The tips are reaching his cheek bones, and even a little below that. His eyes are distinct, the most prominent feature on his face. Mine seem embarrassingly dull compared to his. But those eyes are his. We don't share them. His are breathtaking, how they're saturated with adoration. Adoration for who or what, I'm not sure. But he feels so much. He feels everything. He makes me feel everything.

I like the way his pinkened lips curl in a small smile. It does as I'm sure he intends it to do. It reassures; it excites; it pleasures; it does all of this without parting for the allowance of words to pass through. It descends slowly, so slowly, but I don't feel impatient. It moves against mine, unhurried and tender. He feels so soft and warm. It's so incredible, it's paralyzing, and I can't find the strength within myself to reciprocate his actions.

This isn't a dream; of that, I'm sure. This isn't reality, either. I'm not sure what it is. I'm not sure that I want to find out.

"_Kaoru..._"

His fingertips brush against my shoulder, and his palm lays flat against my collar bone. I know this, without opening my eyes. I can feel it.

"Kaoru..."

There's a gentle squeeze where his hand is. His breath fans over my face. It smells minty, a flavor that is usually accompanied with a cold sensation; but it's warm.

"Ah..." I breathe in reply, my eyes still shut, and his face still clearly visible in front of me, despite that.

"Wake up."

Those words, taking the form of a command that sounds more like a request because of the tenderness thickening his voice, cause my eyes to flutter open obediently. When I see the real Hikaru, the one that isn't a hallucination, I'm seized with panic. The adrenaline takes away the dreaded feeling of sleepiness, luckily. But I'm faced with a larger problem, one that washes away lethargy in a tidal wave of terror and revulsion.

He stares down at me, his hair hanging in his face because of the odd angle, and a tinge of regret coloring his expression. I would ask why that is, if I could form the words without my voice wavering.

I grip the sheets tightly in my shaking hands and try to propel myself upward in a desperate attempt to slip out from my position under him. My skull hits the headboard as a result of my impulsive action. The sound of the two hard objects colliding resounds in my room. I'm aware of the sickening noise before I am of the pain.

"Kaoru!" he shouts at me. I'm only half aware of the alarm in his voice. Most of my attention is on the aching at the back of my head, beginning as an unpleasant tingle, and growing into an aggressive pang of discomfort.

Unfortunately, I don't feel him moving to get up. Maybe he thinks he's supposed to stay here, close to me. He thinks he's supposed to stay so close, that I can feel his panicked exhalations and scent the sweet mint on his breath.

He doesn't need to be so close to determine if I'm alright. I would look so much more unhurt from a distance.

Almost as if Hikaru can feel it, too, as if he can feel the sticky wetness sliding down the base of my neck, he reaches behind my throbbing head. His fingers lightly travel up my neck, smearing the blood. He reaches the oozing laceration. His cool fingers, oddly enough, feel pleasant on the gash. His touch dulls the pain slightly and I don't have to to struggle as much to keep the hiss of discomfort from leaving my mouth.

"Uhnn..." I unintentionally murmur in appreciation. My eyes widen in surprise at the low hum of my own voice. Before I can feel the regret and horror because of that slip, he pulls his hand away. The tips of his fingers are stained with a vivid vermilion color. The blood has almost reached his knuckles, which makes me wonder just how hard I hit my head.

"I-I'm sorry." he breaths, his voice nearly below a whisper. I jolt with the realization that he thinks he's inflicted more pain on me. As much as I want to, I can't open my mouth to tell him that he didn't make anything worse. I feel frozen, which is infuriating, because my mind is running at breakneck speed.

"Just hold on. I'll be right back." he says in a pitch just slightly higher than normal. The urgency in his voice heightens my own anxiety, but it has nothing to do with what Hikaru is worried about. I don't care about my aching head or how hideous it must look, with my hair saturated with blood, plastered to my scalp. Admittedly, Hikaru probably doesn't care about the latter, either.

But I'm afraid. Everything I feel is contradictory. Hikaru doesn't seem to be getting the message that the best thing to do is create a life of his own, and to not share mine anymore. I don't seem to be getting the message, either. This isn't getting any easier.

He moves away from me to climb off of my bed, and I feel a weight lift from my chest. Simultaneously, I feel another weight being placed on me, and even though it's intangible, this one much heavier than the first. It's nearly impossible to breathe under it.

He swings his legs over the edge of my mattress and forces his joints to straighten. Briefly, I'm distracted from my inner turmoil at the peculiar sight of my twin.

I can see a black, pin-striped jacket, matching trousers, and the edge of an unbuttoned, cream-colored dress shirt peaking through the blazer. There's a flash of red underneath his collar, which is a haphazardly worn tie.

The first thing I think of when my stare travels lower is how grateful I am that my room is carpeted. In his haste to go wherever he's going, he would have surely slipped and fallen with his feet clothed in those thin, black socks.

My room smells floral now. I know, without even thinking that deeply about it, that Hikaru is the cause. There's no other explanation for why the pleasant smell is invading my nostrils. I'm not sure how he manged to wear such a feminine scent and not seem feminine. If I could put a name to it, it would be mimosa petals; but that doesn't even seem quite right.

The confusion works its way into me, a bit belatedly. I can't think of an upcoming occasion that would call for such formal attire. I want to ask him what he's dressed for, and even why he had come in my room in the first place, but before the words can even begin to be formed, he disappears in my small, personal bathroom.

Everything is silent, except for the quiet sound of Hikaru fumbling with something and cursing when an object falls loudly on the counter.

For a moment, I consider getting up and running out of my room before he has the chance to do whatever he's planning on doing. Being in such close proximity with him for any amount of time can only be detrimental to me. But I know Hikaru. He has always been attuned to the things and people around him, especially in matters concerning myself. I wouldn't get far before one thing or another alerts him of my absence. It would only rouse more concern for my wellbeing, anyway, and thus, his scrutiny on me would be even more attentive, even though that seems impossible right now.

Hikaru walks out of the bathroom without even turning the lights off. He has a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a bag of cotton balls in his hands.

I shiver uncomfortably at the feeling of thick, warm blood trailing down my neck and the length of my spine.

Desperate for a distraction from that, I look at my brother, standing awkwardly near the bed, and see that his fingers are still painted crimson. The color is darkening as it dries. I wonder why he hadn't washed it off while he was in the bathroom. Maybe he didn't care; or maybe he just forgot. It bothers me, for some reason.

He looks at me, and then follows my line of sight to the fingers staining the outside of the bottle in his hands. He speaks, but offers no explanation as to why his fingers are still dirtied.

"You're going to have to lean forward so that I can have enough access to the back of your head." he mumbles, fingering the edge of the bag of cotton balls.

My slowness to catch on is embarrassing. I should have known that he wanted to clean it as soon as he got up to grab the supplies from the bathroom.

He walks to the edge of the side of the bed I'm laying on, apparently satisfied with my silence. Though my mind is sharp and working fine, I still haven't regained the ability to speak yet. I honestly don't know what I would say if the words would come, anyway. Maybe if I let him do this, if I let him clean this physical wound and heal it as well as he can, he'll stop worrying so much about the inner workings of my psyche. Maybe if he heals this physical part of me, somewhere in his mind, he'll be satisfied with the health of my mind, as well.

Hopefully, this isn't just another one of my delusions. I want this fantasy to become a reality, for both my sake and his.

I lean forward obediently, trembling a bit as I do it. I desperately hope that this is worth it.

I feel the compression of his weight on the bed as he slips in between my slouched figure and the offending headboard. This will be all for nothing if it doesn't calm Hikaru's worries. It would be a mistake, and it would leave me feeling that this sacrifice means absolutely nothing at all.

But as I feel his legs part so that he can sit comfortably with his thighs against my waist, I realize that it's too late to go back now. I've already taken the risk. I can only wait to see if it works out in my favor, his, or both of ours. I would very much prefer the last one.

I can't relax. My muscles are painfully tense against his. It's been so long since I've been this physically close to him, and I've learned to regard positions such as this as dangerous. If I can keep my breathing fairly regular, I will have conquered at least one issue I'm presently faced with.

My nose stings as he opens the bottle of rubbing alcohol. The smell is offensive and strong, and it makes my eyes water. The label on it is smeared with red. The cotton balls are, as well, even before it makes contact with my gushing head. He's transferring blood onto everything he touches with those fingers, and he doesn't even seem to care at all.

He takes a cotton ball with those tainted digits and wets it. After setting the bottle on the bedside table, he's motionless for a few moments. His hesitance doesn't last long, though, and I soon feel the cold touch of it at the back of my head.

It stings, terribly. The pain is substantially worse than the impact of my head with the hard wood of my headboard. I hiss loudly and unintentionally jolt into him. I'm too distracted by the feeling on my head to be concerned about that, which is very fortunate. I would take this any day rather than self-disgust.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry. Peroxide probably wouldn't have hurt as much, but it would've bleached that part of your hair. I had to settle for alcohol. I'm sorry, but this is the only way I could think of to clean it." he explains, sounding genuinely apologetic. His words come out in a rush, so I have to strain to piece them together. His breath hits the nape of my neck as he speaks, and I can't fight the shiver that shoots down my spine because of it. If he notices my subtle quivering against him, he chooses to say nothing.

Nervousness and shame form in the pit of my stomach because of my involuntary reaction. It's an unpleasant mixture with the throbbing in the back of my head. I'm regretting the decision to take this risk, now, but unfortunately, I can't do a thing about it without rousing suspicion in Hikaru.

He continues to dab at that spot for a few more moments. I have to grit my teeth to keep the pathetic whimpers from coming out. I want for this to be over, so badly.

It travels down my neck. I sigh in relief, overwhelmingly glad that he's done irritating the source of pain.

The cotton ball is no longer cold. It's been against my flesh, absorbing the warm blood long enough to dull the sharp, freezing feeling it had previously had.

I know that he's seen that the blood has dripped down my back when I feel his fingers at the hem of my shirt. He wants to clean the crimson mess that's surely down there. I hadn't anticipated this problem when I'd decided to take this risk, and I'm realizing now that it was a big mistake for me to overlook it.

My brain becomes sluggish at the feeling of his fingers trailing up my sides as he brings my shirt up, over my head. He tosses it at the foot of the bed, and it half hangs off of the edge. I vaguely register the fact that a good portion of the fabric on the back is stained with blood.

This is starting to feel like a dream. Most of my senses seem dulled, except for the feeling of physical touch. I can hardly smell the alcohol as he prepares a new cotton ball.

Though the initial wet feeling of it rubbing against me is cold, his fingers are a drastic contrast to that. They have touched my heated flesh and his fingers are warm now, almost hot as they lightly trail down my back with the soft cotton and the wet alcohol.

My muscles begin to grow slack and my breathing becomes slower and more relaxed, as opposed to the erratic breaths I had been drawing into my heaving lungs.

His other hand drifts up to my shoulder and into the hollow behind my clavicle. His fingers begin drawing comforting circles there, even though it's not necessary. The aching at my head is numbed now.

"Mmm..." I murmur, unable to stop myself. I can't hear the sound very well, oddly, but I can feel the rumble of it in my chest. It seems distant, like this is just another movie playing in my head. I'm convinced that it's not real, and that's why the crippling shame that I would normally feel is absent.

His movements pause for a moment. I can feel the haze slowly being lifted, but my mind is clouded again as he resumes his gentle ministrations.

My eyelids feel heavy again. They fall closed when I don't resist at all. With sight no longer playing a factor in my sensory perceptions, the feeling of his touch is magnified. I can't even feel the cotton ball anymore, which leaves me to believe that he's dropped it.

His touch drifts up my spine and to my left shoulder blade, delicately tracing the outline of the bone. The sensations don't once grow the least bit dull, even as I drift in and out of a state that I can only describe as half asleep.

The feeling halts. When he speaks, I can almost feel the vibrations of his voice in my bones.

"You're clean." he mumbles. His hand leaves my flesh, and the sensation is replaced by his warm breath wafting in the indention below my ear.

It isn't the words that cruelly removes the veil of disorientation that had thickly blanketed my mind. It's the tone behind the forced steadiness in his voice. He sounds unsure and slightly frightened. It's a miracle that my slumberous brain is able to process that, but I shouldn't be surprised. If anything can rouse me from a daze, it's Hikaru's voice.

This clear-headedness returns to me as I fall gracelessly onto my pillow, Hikaru's agile form slipping away from me. The sheets that warm my naked torso have been heated by his warmth. My body accepts this welcomingly, while my head splits off in different directions on the matter. My headache is unfortunately coming back.

All I can think of while he stands awkwardly near the bed is that he's never been more wrong about anything. I am not clean. I have never been more filthy in my entire life.

* * *

_A/N: I've tried tasting alcohol. Not the kind that you're actually supposed to taste, I mean. I'm referring to the kind that was featured in this chapter. It actually tasted sort of sweet. I wouldn't recommend it, though. The next morning, I woke up with a painful sore on my tongue. Admittedly, I'm not the brightest pencil in the shed._

_Holy shit! Kaoru said, like, nothing in this chapter. Heh. He only made noises. Hopefully the fact that he never shuts up in his mind makes up for that._

_I apologize if you're confused. Your question(s) will probably be cleared up in the next chapter. I didn't get to why Hikaru's looking so damn snazzy in his neat-o clothes or why he was in Kaoru's room in the first place because he was too busy helping Kaoru recover from that awful headboard attack to explain. (Fucking furniture! It's always striking when you least expect it.)_

_My life has been enriched with Salad Fingers!! :D Sorry. That was a bit irrelevant. Haha._

_As always: Thanks for reading, and thanks very much for reviewing. You make me almost feel, like, high on life. I don't even need marijuana for that. That's good, since I don't have the money for pot, anyway..._

_Perhaps you could drop a review and further enrich my life with happiness and/or knowledge on the rules of grammar or something else pretaining to writing? Yeah? Or nah?_

_:)_

_Until next time,  
Laimiel_


	9. Desperation

N i n e

_- Desperation -_

I maintain eye contact with him as I put my arms underneath the sheets. I don't want him to see that I'm feeling so uncomfortable that I have to resort to that. I don't want him to know that I can't avoid rubbing my wrist when I feel this way, because I wouldn't be able to do it anymore. He'd always know when something isn't right.

For a moment, I get the feeling that he understands. There's a frightening emotion in his eyes, one that I have difficulty identifying because I've never seen it in him. To me, it looks like it's a mixture of the feelings I've been desperately trying to hide from him for what seems like forever. The truth is, we've never looked as alike as we do now. That's a nightmare. It's a much more horrible than the ones that plague me at night, by far.

If I wanted to momentarily comfort myself, I could acknowledge that I have only one option. Feigning normalcy is not one of them, obviously. It hasn't worked thus far. I've tried to fix things, and that hasn't worked, either. The only thing I haven't tried it is giving into his wishes and telling him what has been eating at me from the inside at night, and well into the day. There are numerous problems that I foresee if I take that route, and that's why I'm far from resorting to that.

I feel closer to it than I had in the beginning, though. I feel closer to giving up and telling him everything, but that might make it more real for me. I can tell myself, when I'm emotionally weak and prone to believe even my own lies, that this is just all in my head and that it will go away, because no one knows about it. I generally know better, and usually, my fake condolences to myself are useless.

I realize that my thoughts are getting dangerously personal, and so I focus on my physical surroundings to abandon my dangerous train of thought.

The subtle scent I'd identified as mimosa peddles earlier still hovers in the air around me. It directs me to think about Hikaru's odd choice in clothing. It's especially peculiar, considering that he's home for the day.

Fortunately, he can see the confusion written on my face. I'm glad that I don't have to speak. My voice would betray the thoughts in my head that aren't as frivolous as the question of Hikaru's choice of attire.

He looks surprised, like my reaction is not one he'd expected. I think that maybe underneath that confusion, there's faint disappointment lingering. It makes me feel guilty, though I'm not sure why. But it's comforting to see something in his expression other than one identical to my own. It would kill me if he began wearing that mask long enough for it to permanently become a part of his face. It's so difficult to take off once that happens. I'm still trying to free myself of my own, with no luck so far.

His lips, which have been peculiarly drained of most of the normal pink tint, part so that he can speak.

"The...the dance we have before Christmas break every year, you know? Don't you remember?" he says, fingering his necktie absentmindedly. I watch him, hearing the anxious edge in his voice and his features, and realize that he's straining to maintain eye contact with me.

It makes sense, suddenly, but I'm not surprised that I forgot. I admit, I've been selfishly preoccupied with my own personal issues lately. But I can't understand why this would mean anything to him. The significance of it is lost to me.

I grip the sheets in my fists and adopt an erect posture as I observe my brother look around my room. I hate the desolation in his eyes has he gazes at my barren walls. There are still a few pieces of tape I'd neglected to take down, and some chips of the surface layer of paint missing.

I want him to leave. He's seen enough already. I'm ashamed of what I'd left behind last night, what I did last night, and the high I'd gotten while doing it.

I can't make myself say the words to make it known that he's not welcome in here anymore, and I don't know why. I've taken away anything that could be used to gain any semblance of happiness. The regret for doing what I'd done to years of idle doodles to time-consuming sketches is setting in right now. I certainly hadn't anticipated it.

He speaks again, his voice taking on a quiet, cautious tone.

"I have to leave early to help prepare, since the Host Club is...well, hosting it. You're not part of the Host Club anymore, I know, but...I don't know. I just assumed...I came in here to see if you were ready. Um, I guess you're not." he mumbles. He chuckles quietly, but I can't detect a trace of humor in the sound.

Why would he assume that I'd be going? The fact that I only go to school out of obligation, which is obvious because I've quit something I'd been so seemingly devoted to, should be enough for him to determine that even though I've forgotten about it, and therefore, hadn't made an official decision on the matter, my answer would most certainly be no. There is always idle time at functions like these, and such idle time is a perfect opportunity to get interrogated. By some miracle, I've avoided it this far. I don't plan on changing that.

My eyes leave his and find the painfully bare wall. I think the lack of eye contact is a relief to both of us.

"I'm not ready because I'm not going, Hikaru." I tell him in a firm tone that isn't mine. I'm not sure where the assertiveness came from, but when I see his shoulders sag out of the corner of my eye, that unfamiliar emotion leaves me.

My eyes meet his again, defying my conscious wishes.

Behind the disappointment that he doesn't even try to hide, he looks done.

_Done._

He looks finished.

I would like think that this would be the last chapter of this issue. I would like to think that this means closure for him, and for me, in turn. I would like to think that this means he has given up trying to get the truth from me, to help me get over something he hasn't the faintest inkling about. But this expression of finality isn't even bittersweet, at least. Nothing has been solved, and Hikaru may never stop searching for the issue I've put so much effort into burying deeply, even if it meant a shallow grave was all I had the ability to give it.

He looks away, swallows, and grimaces like he's tasted something foul before swiftly walking out of my room.

It's only then that I realize how wrong I'd been, dwelling on the fact that my room is embarrassingly barren and empty. It's never felt _this_ empty. It's never felt so hopelessly cold and unfriendly.

He took something with him when he left my room. The only way I could possibly know what it was is if I had it again, but now that it's gone, I have little hope that I'll ever discover what isn't here.

* * *

I've remained still and silent, simply trying to slow my mind down so that I don't have to think about anything. I'd wondered why I hadn't done just that before now, but I quickly realized that the reason was because it wasn't possible, and that I'd been clear-headed enough until now to know that instinctively. I _can't_ stop thinking.

It's a blessing, in one way, because even though my body is exhausted, I couldn't go to sleep even if I wanted to. My brain refuses to take a moment to slow down.

His image keeps running through my mind, specifically the way he looked before he'd walked out of my room. There was always perseverance and hope in his eyes, no matter how depressed he may have felt at a particular time. There was always _something_. But I couldn't see that this time. It hurt, more than the throbbing in the back of my head, or anything else, for that matter. It made things more chaotic within me than things have ever been.

My efforts to distance myself were useless. I'd thought that because it was so difficult to do, to not allow myself to be embraced in those arms again, to deprive myself of his kindness and warmth, it _must_ work.

I blanch when my mind unwillingly wanders to the subject of my last option. If he were to know the truth, it's likely that he would do what I've been hoping for all this time. He would be disgusted, and maybe even a bit afraid, and he would distance himself. This possibility has been living in the back of my mind for quite some time now, but I've been neglecting to think about it. I haven't let go of the ties to my brother. It isn't just because I'm not ready to, but that's true. I'll never be ready. Mostly, however, I won't take the most logical route because I _can't_. There's still a large part of me that holds onto Hikaru's concern with unrelenting strength. It means too much to me to let it go.

But I feel impulsive, like I'm going to do what may really mean the end of us even if logic is screaming at me to not even entertain the thought.

Even though the sound of the door closing hasn't reached my ears, I know he's gone. I can feel his absence, not just from my room, but from the entire house. I had become gradually aware of it until now, with the gentle realization that he's no longer here. I should have expected as much, but I hadn't. It's an unpleasant surprise, and for a moment, I feel like my window of opportunity is gone. Both relief and disappointment comes from that thought, but I can only choose one of those feelings to follow. I've been listening to the former whisper in my ear to give into cowardice, and it hasn't worked. I decide, then, that I'm disappointed. I fully acknowledge that I miss him, that I want to talk to him badly, that I've waited too long for that, and that most of all, I wish I could still feel his pleasurable touch.

Something in my stomach twists uncomfortably at the alarming thoughts running through my head, the things I only usually indulge in during my dreams.

I prop myself up and a wave of dizziness overcomes me, in addition to the stirrings of something in my abdomen. I heave over my tiny plastic wastebasket, my lower torso still on the bed and the rest of my body leaning awkwardly over the edge.

The muscles in my stomach contract uncomfortably, but all that comes from it is a dry cough. I realize that I haven't eaten anything today, so there's nothing to vomit. The discomfort isn't spared from me, however, and my stomach begins cramping before the ordeal is over. I'm unable to stop the bile from rising in my throat and the moisture beginning to form in the corners of my eyes, only just realizing that this is the first time I've thought of him this way outside of my dreams.

I don't have the energy to hate anymore, which means I can no longer call them nightmares.

I spit any access saliva in the canister, as well as the acidic liquid in my mouth, before swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. My knees feel weak and my bout of dizziness still hasn't subsided, but through a considerable amount of effort, I'm able to stay on my feet.

My shoes are still on, but that doesn't matter as far as physical comfort goes. I can't feel anything outside of inward influences, which is more of a curse than anything. I would rather fare in glacial winter weather than deal with my unhealthy obsession, and unfortunately, I may have to endure both.

The trip through the house is surprisingly forgettable. Maybe it's because all of my attention is focused on where Hikaru is. I have to accept, even regretfully, that it's always been that way. I'm _only_ physically present in any given situation if he's not with me.

My mouth feels dry and the taste of bile still resides there, but I can't bring myself to care too much about that. I can only swallow thickly in a futile attempt to rid myself of the taste as I walk on, down the stairs, toward the door, stumbling past the nearly naked Christmas tree. I almost look at it, just to see if it's gained any of the beauty it had lost, but I stop myself.

Nothing else matters right now. I have to talk to him.

I reach the door and put my shaking hand on the doorknob before even thinking of doing it. It's irrational to think this, I know, but I can almost feel the warmth of his hand here. Before I can dwell on that much longer, I reprimand myself for delaying my progress and turn the brass knob with a flick of my wrist.

I wouldn't be able to see him, even if it weren't snowing so heavily and I wasn't blinded with white. But I know he's not here, for the same reason I'd known he left without actually seeing or hearing his departure.

It's an upsetting disappointment to see that I've failed in catching him, but I walk on like a fool. I probably wouldn't even be able to find him somewhere between the short distance of our home and Ouran High School. The loud pounding in my head has robbed me of the ability to hear, and I can't see anything through the fat snowflakes raining down in every direction.

Something, maybe the thing that reveled in the feeling of his touch, pushes me forward.

The aching in my head grows more pronounced, and the dizziness does as well, in turn. I suppose the cold isn't doing the residing sick feeling in my stomach and my injured head any good, but I hadn't been thinking of that when I'd mindlessly left my safe place, or the only thing that could possibly be even remotely close to a safe place, anyway.

I left my sense back at home, though, and my gait doesn't falter. If I don't reach my destination, it will be because I've passed out from exhaustion. I refuse to give up for anything.

When I see, just faintly, the edge of the barricade of the bridge I'd rested at the first time I'd walked home alone, self-preservation begins to grow dominant in me. Maybe I can stop, for just a moment. Maybe if I allow myself this small thing, my headache will cease to feel so raw and throbbing and then, I could try to walk straight. Just a moment, I rationalize, won't do much harm.

As I shuffle to the barricade, I begin to think about how dangerous this could potentially be. I can't see well and my equilibrium is off. Sitting on the edge of this barricade, above the ice cold, possibly frozen water, isn't the safest idea. But I'm feeling impulsive. I've thrown away all of my carefully built barriers, and now that the idea has been born, I can't defy myself. I have already made the foolish decision to do this, in addition to another, more crucial choice.

I saunter in the general direction of my destination, and I only know that I've made it there when my foot hits the hard edge of the barricade. I'm constantly blinking now, because it seems to be snowing even harder, if that's possible. I have to rely on touch because of that.

My fingers graze the cold surface, and I know I'm there. I grip the edge tightly before making the move to climb on it.

My breath is coming out in sharp pants, and even though I can't see the world spinning underneath me, I can feel it. Still, I don't let that deter me instead. I won't heed to the constant warnings of my rational mind screaming at me that this is a terrible idea. It's safer than the only other option, anyway. I know I can't sit on the edge of the street without seeing properly. Walking on it is dangerous enough, and after weighing those two options, I choose the lesser of two evils.

I swing my leg over the edge, and keep my other hanging on the safe side, the safe side being the one not precariously above a possibly frozen river.

I can't stop the violent shivers that attack my frame. The solid coldness against my body, the thin fabric of my pants being the only barrier, worsens how frozen I feel, but it's worth it. Though my headache doesn't subside at all, the dizziness is starting to drain away. It leaves me feeling drowsy and exhausted and that familiar desire for sleep weighs on me.

I begin to breathe more easily, but the cold air makes my lungs burn. It seems that every solution brings about another problem to replace the one it has gotten rid of. I hate how complicated that seems to my muddled brain. I really miss the simplicity I used to take for granted.

My head feels heavy. It lolls back without any objection from me, and I can feel snowflakes dotting my face because of that. I have to close my eyes to keep the snow from falling in them, which I had anticipated as being an inconvenience, but it seems that it's oddly relieving mentally and physically. Dully, I register the fact that I haven't gotten sufficient sleep, or any sleep, for that matter, in quite some time, and that I'm taking a risk by closing my eyes, even if I tell myself it's just for a moment. But sleep deprivation has clouded my judgment, which is probably why I've decided to stumble through this dreadful weather to tell something to Hikaru that I probably never would have even begun to conceive earlier this week.

The grip my hands have on the cement below me loosen. In response, the muscles in my arms, and then my shoulders, and my back, relax ever so slightly. The cold is beginning to become unknown to me now, like it isn't even a factor in this moment, and it never was for any of my past moments.

The images behind my eyelids seem familiar, not because I've lived them, which would be obvious. But it's because I've seen them before. I can't remember when, though. Maybe they've been lost in the deep recesses of my mind until now. Maybe they came in dreams, dreams that I hadn't remembered until now. That's an unbelievable notion, because I thought I'd remembered every detail of my dreams.

To anyone else, this image of Hikaru would have been indiscernible compared to the many, many others. But I can tell the difference, and I'm immensely grateful that I can. He looks slightly different, but still similar enough that it doesn't frighten me. He looks like nothing is a mystery anymore, and that the unveiled secrets don't make anything less okay.

The sudden blast of air rushing into my back and through my limbs, the peculiar reverse sensation of everything, the shrill, feminine voice of alarm, and the arrival of the familiar dizziness making even more disorder in my head are all very minor factors with this beauty in the forefront of my mind. All outside influences are dull, so much so that they're nearly nonexistent to me.

I can only see one thing. I can only see one living, breathing, beatific person, kind and smiling, and everything else is forgotten.

* * *

_A/N: I'm sorry I left you with that almost literal cliffhanger. :( It'll be crunch time for Kaoru in the next few chapters (HOMG! I'm going to have so much fun writing the next couple of updates)...but I don't want to give anything away, so I'm 'unna shaddap now._

I was **gonna** update earlier, but then FF[dot]net conveniently decided to shit itself, as most of you probably know. Goddamnit. I swear, I thought I was going to have to continue this on LJ or something. I went through all of the stages of grief, you know. Well, not all of them. I never got to acceptance. :(

Lemme know what you thought, pleeeease. :P


	10. Defrost

T e n

_- Defrost -_

The first thing my mind perceives as reality are my hands, and the gentle sensations on the soft flesh. Something soft and warm is lightly brushing the skin. They're the only part of my body that doesn't feel bone-chillingly cold. Everything on the outside feels comfortably warm, but under all of that, I'm freezing. My blood feels cool and thick, like it's sluggishly flowing through my veins because it has lost all of its liquidity.

A shudder rips through me in response to the less than pleasant sensation. The comforting feeling on my hands cease, and my eyes open instinctually to see the source of what cruelly took that one thing away from me.

I'm met with the bland image of a white ceiling. Even though there isn't anything on the plaster wall to discern, I know my vision is a great deal worse than what it usually is. I know that, because as my eyes roll downward, I only see a blur of neutral colors. I think it moves, but I can't be sure. Things seem surreal right now, like I'm dreaming. But the ache in my lungs as I struggle to breathe feels too real. The straining in my arms is real, as I try to prop myself up, only to fall back when my muscles give out.

Even though my stare has been forced back to the ceiling and I can't see that blur of color—such a beautiful contrast to the sterile white of everything—I can feel its movement.

Just as that color makes its way into my view, I feel something deliciously warm cupping my cheek. It's similar to the lost feeling on my hands, but more concentrated. The feeling reaches every part of my body. The frozenness beneath my flesh is dissipating, gradually. A contented sigh escapes my dry lips and I lean into the comforting touch. I'm responded to, mercifully, and the warmth drifts up my face, tracing the edge of my cheekbone before continuing below my eye. My eyelashes brush something as I blink, and I'm afraid I've disrupted whatever is happening, but my fears go unheeded. The feeling drifts up the slope of my nose and to my forehead. It travels through my scalp. Something soft and warm is tenderly combing through my hair.

My mind dully registers the sensation of warm, sweet breath gently fanning the side of my face and ghosting down my neck. I involuntarily shiver at the feeling.

"Kaoru..."

Something more tangible than the pleasant feelings make me force my half-lidded eyes fully open. His voice is painfully unfamiliar. I don't remember him ever sounding like that, so filled with dread and forced composure.

I blink my eyes rapidly, straining to see that blot of color in front of my face. The image gradually sharpens to the point where I can recognize him. I don't need to see him to know he's there, though. Even as his soothing touch reached nearly all of the contours of my face, even though I wasn't thinking that _this is Hikaru_, there's no way I could mistake his touch for anything else.

That's why I don't tense uncomfortably under his touch or his gaze. I knew it was him before hearing his voice or seeing his face. It doesn't feel like I'm waking up from a nightmare; it feels like I'm waking up after spending an eternity in a dreamless sleep. It's bittersweet, thinking of it that way. I feel like although I have been given the opportunity to enjoy a peaceful sleep, I couldn't, because I had been hiding in the dark without his company, without his voice, or even an intangible image that I could possibly use for some semblance of comfort. I've discovered that it was exponentially more unpleasant than the nightmares I've been running from.

But right now, he's clearer than any memory I could possibly have of him. The anguish in his eyes is real and raw. It isn't becoming of him, and it strikes something in me that sets off the familiar emotion of anxiety, but most of all, guilt.

"Why?" he chokes out, his grip tightening on my hair. My scalp almost stings, but I don't pull away or show any physical sign of distress. I'm used to smothering it. What I'm not used to, however, is not resisting his touch. His question prompts me to the direction of the answer as to why this is, and I instantly remember, with startling clarity, everything that happened up until my carelessness got the better of me. I remember the desperation I felt as I stumbled through the snow pathetically. I remember the confessions brimming dangerously behind my lips, ready to leak from my mouth at the first sign of his attentiveness to the upcoming words.

I don't know how to answer his question. I have so many of my own. There was a point, after the reverse sensation and the mental image of his expression, so carelessly happy, that everything disappeared.

I owe him an explanation, though. I'd had one planned before this, and it's still lodged uncomfortably in my throat.

"I had to t..._talk_ to you." I rasp. My ability to form words seems to have decreased exponentially. My throat aches; it feels slightly dry, and the niggling pain in my lungs monopolizes a good amount of my attention. Still, I force pitiful sound from my raw throat, because I'm not sure if this confidence will last long enough for me to get this out. But the main motivating factor in my fierce desire to provide an explanation for Hikaru is the hopeful expression that clouds his troubled eyes. It lifts my spirits slightly.

"I tried to get to you, but it was so snowy, and I couldn't see anything." I continue, pausing briefly to examine the mild slur of my words. My tongue feels strangely heavy.

"There was that...that barricade, at the bridge; and I was so tired. So, I...I just wanted to rest on it for awhile, until I felt like I could keep going. But..." I trail off, not wanting to explain further, and knowing that I don't need to. He knows the rest of the story. I don't, though. Although I would like to get my questions answered to clear the irritating haziness in my brain, that isn't as urgent as this is.

His grip on my scalp loosens and he bows his head forward so that his hair obstructs my view of his face. It's highly irritating because I need to see what he's thinking. I won't let him hide like I've been. I don't care if that makes me a hypocrite, or if it tarnishes my opinion of myself anymore than it has been tarnished. This is too important for that.

His fingers, shaking slightly, begin threading through my hair. There's a growing knot of anxiety in my stomach because I'm allowing this. I feel so disorganized internally; I'm not sure which part of me is rejecting his touch and which part of me is accepting it. It quickly becomes apparent that the latter has the upper hand at this moment.

Hikaru's face angles upward, and finally, I can see him. I can see the conflicting emotions of worry, confusion, and relief. He isn't used to my current passive demeanor, and neither am I. I'm just taking advantage of this before I take it all away from myself again. I know, for certain, that the truth will take it away from me.

His bloodshot eyes meet mine with desperation shining in them. As he parts his lips for the allowance of speech, I prepare myself to be faced with something only Hikaru could get me to admit to.

"Did you do it on purpose?" he whispers, so quietly, I get the impression that not even the walls are supposed to hear.

His question catches me off guard. It isn't what I was expecting. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, because what I'd been expecting was something regarding the subject of what I've been avoiding for what seems like forever. But I know I can't ignore that forever. I can postpone it, though, as it turns out I've been doing all this time. Hikaru has provided me with that opportunity with his unexpected question.

"No." I breathe. That single syllable seems to rob me of all of the oxygen residing in my lungs. It leaves me breathless. It's the incredible feeling of the truth leaving a mouth that has been producing only lies lately.

His expression is unreadable for a moment. Before I can decipher whatever he's feeling, his hand, the one hanging limply at his side and not the one entangled in my hair, rises. It darts over my chest briefly, leaving a warm trail, and drifts behind my neck. He leans forward, gently pulling me upward at the same time.

I tremble, my body receiving his touch too welcomingly. I have to admit to myself, regretfully, that I already miss this feeling.

He pulls me forward in an awkward hug, so close that our foreheads are nearly touching. The thought makes my cheeks flush and my heartbeat accelerate, but if he notices, he does nothing to indicate it. He just breathes softly against me for a moment before raising his head.

His nose grazes the edge of mine as a consequence of this action. I fight the shudder threatening to dance up my spine, futilely, and release a quiet gasp. My eyes widen in embarrassment and disgust toward myself at the almost soundless intake of breath, but Hikaru doesn't respond to it. I can only feel the warmth of his breath drift higher and higher until it reaches my forehead, where his soft lips connect with the skin. I'm keenly the subtle trembling of his mouth and the tremors that reach his hand. It seems that I'm catching them. I shiver in his embrace, clutching the rough sheets below me in a white-knuckled grip.

I know it's selfish to take advantage like this, when he has no idea what it means to me. He doesn't know what he's giving me, or how it makes me feel. I hate to imagine what things would be like if he did know, and then I realize that I've already made the decision to find out.

The fear seeps into my bones and I'm cold all over again. As I try to avoid shaking, this time because of the iciness radiating from the inside of my body and far outside of it, my muscles tense underneath him. In response, his arms tighten around my stiff form and he draws back, only to shower light kisses across the expanse of my forehead. He trails down my temple, gradually slowing in speed, but becoming more deliberate and drawn out.

I'm surprised to feel the evidence of grief slipping down my cheek. It isn't my own, but he kisses away the warm, wet moisture as if it is. It prompts the tightening in my own throat. I close my eyes and swallow thickly, but the feeling doesn't dispel. I can feel a smile against my skin, despite that. The contradicting emotions bring about contradicting responses to those emotions, which shouldn't be surprising, but I find that it is.

He feels so different. I'm not sure how I can read him through his touches, but I can. He doesn't seem as drained. I'm not sure where he found what I've sucked him dry of, but I'm incredibly grateful that he did.

The warmth is gradually ebbing into me again. I allow a contented sigh to escape my lips, melting into him.

Nothing is irritatingly vague like it is in my dreams. This doesn't leave me shivering in a nonverbal way of begging myself to stop this. What my mind conjures up is frightening, awful, and sickening. I create destruction. It never felt good, but I was okay with that, being ignorant of Hikaru's twinning emotions. It's real now, more so than it ever has been. The wetness sliding down my cheek, his grief, mingling with evidence of my own overwhelming feelings, makes it blatantly obvious that what has happened reached him, as well, to just as strong severity as it did with me.

I've known that for an embarrassingly long time. I've ignored it, and that didn't work. The last option, the final one, is still the route I plan on taking. The other ones have led me to unfamiliar places, away from Hikaru, that gave me such a profound sense of being lost, it left me numb as a defensive mechanism.

The notion of telling him everything he's been ignorant of makes me petrified, but his gentle affections take the edge off of it, even though it shouldn't.

Something disrupts the quiet serenity of the room, even though the silence itself isn't disturbed. I can sense it, not only in the sudden cessation of Hikaru's movements, but in the air. It feels like it's gotten thicker. It makes it even harder to breathe.

"Honey," a tight voice sounds, forcibly filling every corner of the room. At first, I don't even recognize it. I don't know who's referring to whom, or why that term of endearment would fit either Hikaru or I; and then I remember her.

I remember, at five years old, her fingers in my mouth, looking for a foreign object I'd stuck in there and would have probably ended up choking on without her aid. I remember wondering what _her_ cooking would taste like, but I'd suspected it wouldn't be nearly as good as the meals the nannies had prepared for us. I remember her hurried demeanor, her professional attitude, and most importantly, the confusion she'd felt in differentiating between her sons.

She'd never looked close enough to find out. She could have seen it. Anyone could've, if they'd just looked closely enough.

Hikaru lifts his head, disengages his fingers from my hair, and pulls away from me. I have to restrain myself from pulling him back. The coldness is back, full fledged and more unbearable, now that I know what it feels like to be warm. Even the tear tracks on my cheeks feel like they're freezing. The trails on my face sting.

His face is mostly shrouded by his hair again, but the unhidden, bitter frown on his face explains more than his eyes probably ever would have betrayed.

My gaze unwillingly travels to the entrance of the room, where she stands. She's the very same that I remember her. She's wearing some bright ensemble that makes my vision go blurry again. She looks just as harried as usual, like this is just one of her life's typical struggles.

Her eyes dart between Hikaru and I. She looks a little surprised behind the concerned expression she's wearing. I'm not sure whether that expression is real or not, though. It probably is, because she must be missing something important to be here.

We were never affectionate around her. That's most likely because we were never overly affectionate with each other outside of the Host Club. Had that been different, she wasn't around to see it, anyway. She wasn't around to see the impact her absence had on us. For me, it meant being at Hikaru's side at every waking moment. The attachment I'd formed on him was unnatural at the time, but now, it's bloomed into something completely beyond abnormal.

I have no attachment to this woman. That's why I can't hate her. In order to hate, one has to love first. One has to care about the object of one's hatred before the emotions can turn sour.

I've never felt anything for her, though. I'm indifferent.

Her hands tremble at her sides and she fingers the hem of her shirt. I don't know her well, but I do know people well enough, in general, to know that she must do this when she's uneasy.

"Did you...? Did you do it...on purpose?" she asks, her voice adopting an accusatory tone. It borders on hysterical. The loose grip she has on her emotions irks me. It makes me miss how calm things were before she destroyed that.

"No. It was an accident." I murmur. My voice sounds exhausted, like I've been repeatedly asked that question, when in reality, it's only been once before this. That's probably the only time it will matter.

I see Hikaru slump against the wall from the corner of my eye, sighing softly. The relief he feels in response to my honest answer for the second time is obvious in his languid posture.

She, however, doesn't look as relieved. I don't know what she's feeling anymore. Her eyes are guarded, like she doesn't trust me enough to allow me to gauge her emotions. I wouldn't, either.

She sighs and gazes at the ceiling for a few moments, looking as if she's debating her next words. I idly twiddle the edge of the sheets between my thumb and forefinger, trying to distract myself from thinking too deeply about things while I patiently wait for her to either speak again or leave the room. I'm hoping for the latter, but unfortunately, that isn't what she intends to do.

"I spoke with the doctor." she begins. Her eyes stay trained on the ceiling as she says this. That makes me grateful, because her gaze makes me awfully uncomfortable. "I suppose you've probably already filled in the blanks, but just in case, I should explain everything to clear up any confusion.

"Luckily, a passerby witnessed your..._accidental fall_." The emphasis she layers on the last words fill me with anger. She has that accusatory tone again, that guarded, low voice.

"Help was immediately called, but since the water was freezing, as you can imagine in this kind of weather, you developed hypothermia in the scant three and a half minutes you were there. It's really nothing short of a miracle, because you were unconscious, and..." she trails off, her voice going uncharacteristically soft. Hikaru shifts uncomfortably. His eyes are downcast. It makes me squirm against the sheets.

She closes her eyes briefly and draws in a soft breath before continuing.

"I was called by Hikaru after you were transported here. He'd heard the commotion and could see the ambulance from the short distance of a few blocks away, so he'd known the basics of what happened early on.

"Anyway, after treating you intravenously with warm fluids, your body temperature began rising toward normal, and...and, we knew you'd be fine. Your recovery is going to probably take longer than it normally would, though. The doctor said that...uh, you're severely underweight."

Hikaru mumbles something incoherently and his fingernails dig into his palms. My mother's anxious voice isn't helping the overall mood of the room at all.

I hadn't realized, until now, that I'd been neglecting to eat. It's been the last thing on my mind lately. I've been numbed of most physical feelings, including hunger pangs. That probably didn't help the fact that I had been exhausted already, and still am.

Belatedly, I realize that she's waiting for an explanation. Her eyes are on me now, expectant.

Even though it appears that he's not, Hikaru is listening, as well. But he isn't as clueless as our mother is. I think he knows that whatever I tell her will be a lie or not the answer either of them want, and I think he has an idea that this endless confusion will end soon. It will, for him, anyway. He knows that there's something so significant on my mind that it's making its way to my mouth. I've already told him that I'd been searching for him before the accident because I wanted to talk. I wouldn't have stumbled through such unfavorable weather to instigate a conversation if I hadn't been prepared to tell him the truth; and I still plan on it.

Such cannot be said for my mother, however.

"I'm sorry. I just haven't been that hungry lately. I promise I'll eat more." I mumble lamely. My voice sounds so neutral and schooled. The dull sound almost makes my physically ill.

My excuse isn't a lie, though. It's infuriatingly vague, and it certainly isn't the sudden regurgitation of my soul and every troubling thought that has flitted through my mind recently that she probably expected. It's clear that she's unsatisfied with my answer, looking at the bitter frown forming and the furrowing of her neatly shaped eyebrows.

But that doesn't matter. That answer is for her. Hikaru may be in the room, awkwardly shifting positions near the surface of the generically printed wallpaper, but he's not expected to take my reply to heart or assure himself that I really will put some effort into maintaining my physical health. He knows it, too, because his facial expression does not mirror our mother's in the slightest. He just looks irritated and impatient; and watching him shoot heated glances at the stranger near the door, I know exactly who the cause of his irritation is. I can empathize with that.

She sighs and looks at the clock in the corner of the room. Her dissatisfied expression drains at once and morphs into one of urgency. I know what she's going say before her mouth even begins to open. She murmurs an obscenity before speaking directly to me.

"I'm late for a meeting. Unfortunately, everyone is off-duty at the house because it's getting pretty late. They don't have an obligation to do anything for me anymore. Your father, however, should be finished with an important meeting at around 10 'o clock. He's been notified of the current situation, and he will pick you both up as soon as he arrives here. I have to go. I apologize. I hope you start feeling better soon, Kaoru. Please take care of yourself."

Her impersonal tone hovers threateningly in the room instead of following her out like it should have. It feels stiflingly awkward in here, even without her presence. The soft click of the door as she shuts it brings no closure.

I have a distinct feeling that Hikaru senses the discomfort, as well. He doesn't meet my eyes immediately. He just continues to stare at the ground for a moment, appearing to be in deep thought.

Finally, he returns my gaze. It makes me anxious that he's caught me looking. I feel like I've been eavesdropping on some private moment he'd taken the time to have with himself. Even when he smiles tentatively, and I attempt to smile back, my anxiety only gains strength. It almost bubbles up into my expression, but I think I've hidden it well.

It shouldn't matter, though. It will only come back, much more pronounced, when I follow through with the promise I've made to myself, and silently made to Hikaru, despite the fact that he doesn't know it yet.

Unfortunately, it won't be long before he does.

* * *

_A/N: Uh, I finally reached double digits. Woo. Where's my enthusiasm?_

_So, anyway, I don't like this chapter very much. Hopefully the next one will make up for it! :D Review, yes? Or a cookie, maybe? Please?_


	11. Maybe

E l e v e n

_- Maybe -_

"You said that you had to talk to me." he mumbles. I can tell that he's fighting to keep his expression neutral, but there's excitement clearly brewing underneath the surface. It distracts me for a moment. I'm having that experience again, where I feel like I'm just being acquainted with my brother. His trademark enthusiasm toward nearly every subject under the sun has been absent for as long as mine has. Seeing the beginnings of his previously dead liveliness rouses some similar feelings to life in me, but not before the panic smothers them.

"I did." I confirm, fighting to maintain eye contact with him. I have the urge to hide underneath the uncomfortable sheets as he walks toward me. Guilt constricts around my heart when I think about how that hopeful expression will be extinguished when I finally allow the incriminating words to leave my lips.

I know better than to expect it to feel liberating. A confession will only place another weight on my shoulders in place of the one I'm relinquishing, but I'll do this, regardless. I'm going to do it because it will put Hikaru's concern to rest. It's suffocating him; I know it is. And maybe, even though it doesn't seem like it right now, this may benefit me, as well. Maybe this really is what it takes to set a total detachment between us in motion. I have to admit to myself, grudgingly, that I don't want that. But if I keep in mind that maybe this will stop the dreams, and that I can sleep again, and that maybe Hikaru will no longer blame me for acting so cold toward him, I can do this.

I have to do it, whether or not I think I can, anyway. I've already started it. I'm beyond the point of no return, and as everyone knows, there is no going back when you've reached that point.

He reaches the edge of the bed and looms over me. His movements reflect the apprehensiveness in his eyes as he reaches for my hand. I hadn't been aware of the icy feel of my flesh, tingling slightly and almost numb, until feeling his warmth encapsulating my palm and racing up my fingers. He notices the disturbingly cold temperature and his grip tightens in a futile attempt to warm it.

"So talk to me." he murmurs. I feel like he's dissecting me with his stare. It's unnerving, and I sink into the crinkly pillow cradling my head. My throat feels tight again, rendering me speechless.

"Please." he adds, whispering and sounding more desperate. He's trying to coax the words out of me by tracing shapes in my palm and squeezing gently every few moments, and even though it shouldn't be working, it is. My heart is still hammering in my chest like I've run a marathon, my mouth still feels dry, and my lungs still feel insatiable, despite this.

I force myself to form some words, even though I have no idea where to start or what I should say that could possibly make this easier for Hikaru to accept.

"It seems like every time I close my eyes, I have these...these nightmares."

His eyes widen in curiosity and his hand tightens around mine in response. I return the gesture, tentatively, because I know this is the last time I'll feel him like this. It's selfish and I'm taking advantage of him, but I can't bring myself to regret that. I know I will, eventually, but I can't help but respond to the comfort he's offering me.

I'm so grateful that he understands that his input at this moment will only make things harder to get out. My hesitation to do this is evident, and he's probably very impatient, but he waits silently while I struggle to gather the words to explain.

"It's always just you and I, and..."

The rest gets caught in my throat while fleeting images and memories play behind my open eyes, clouding up the real vision of Hikaru among pieces and fragments of him I've created, strangely without my own consent.

His other hand leaves his side, slowly at first, as if he's unsure of what his actions will be, before traveling upward to caress the side of my neck. The subtle trembling of his fingers as he twirls a lock of hair around one digit betrays the composed look in his eyes. I realize that he's almost as nervous about this as I am.

I want him to tell me that it doesn't matter, that he doesn't care about what I've promised I would say, so that I can feel him without seeing a clock ticking closer and closer to the end of it. The clock is in perpetual motion, unfortunately, as it always has been. Time won't stop for anyone.

"Please tell me, Kaoru. You can tell me anything. I promise. I don't care what it is; just tell me." he pleads in a low voice. I almost groan out loud in response to his word choice. I have no doubt in my mind that he certainly will care about this.

I swallow the lump of fear in my throat and try to force my troubling thoughts to the back of my mind, but unfortunately, they still linger in the forefront of my brain. I've already begun, though. I can't possibly stop now, especially after dangling the first shred of hope in front of him.

"We're always...doing things we shouldn't be doing." I continue unsteadily. "We're doing the things that we used to have fun pretending we do. Remember, back when we used to do those things for an audience, those things that brothers shouldn't be doing, but it didn't matter, because it wasn't real? You...you remember?"

He gazes at me for a few moments, and to both my disappointment and elation, his eyes are uncomprehending. Part of me is glad that he doesn't understand. This means I have to explain further, though, because my deliberately vague answer doesn't mean anything to him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember, Kaoru; of course I remember. I just...I'm sorry, I don't know what you're getting at." he mumbles, his fingers stilling for a moment.

There's a silent question lingering in his eyes. It's a request to delve deeper into my mind and allow him see its filthy contents. Against my better judgment, I oblige, and attempt to clarify something that _should_ stay so dirtied that it's unreadable and too muddled for anyone's comprehension.

"We're doing those things, but there isn't an audience, and there's no restriction. We're just a-alone, _alone_, and I like it too much. I _like_ it. God, I-I love it. I love it so much that it almost makes the feeling of shame and disgust for myself when I wake up worth it." I choke out, completely uncaring of the moisture forming in the corner of my eyes, or the widening of Hikaru's.

"Kaoru—" he starts, his voice an octave higher than usual. I interrupt him before he can get another word out, unable to stop myself.

"I realize now, although it's a little too late for that, that it wasn't worth it. Pulling away from you because I thought it would help wasn't worth it. I'm not strong enough to do it. It's too goddamn _difficult_, so if you want to see any progress with eliminating this problem, you'll have to do it yourself. I can't anymore. I tried, Hikaru, and I can't." I finish breathlessly. My words make hardly any sense, even to me. I hope he can understand what I mean. I hope he can see the seriousness and honesty I tried to infuse in each word, so that I don't have to replace them with empty ones.

"'Doing things we shouldn't be doing,'" he repeats, his eyes cloudy and his expression infuriatingly unreadable. I tremble subtly under his motionless hand as he continues to speak. "You love it, doing those things without anyone watching..."

He sounds far away. His eyes are downcast, and even though his expression is unchanging, I know he's troubled. He understands, finally, even though I wish he didn't. He's perceptive enough to pick up on the meaning behind things when he really wants to.

His hand tenses in mine, but he doesn't pull away. I wonder if he wants to, and if I should, but he distracts me by laughing before I can do anything. I'm frozen in shock as I listen to the dryness behind the sound and the bitter undertone.

"The weird thing about nightmares," he forces out of his dry lips. "is that they're not always meant to be interpreted literally. It doesn't have to mean what it seems like it means."

His expression looks slightly incredulous, like _he_ doesn't even believe what he's saying. I don't think it's that he's misunderstanding me. He's just denying what I've been denying for what seems like forever.

It takes every ounce of strength I have to calm my wild heart and force an unsteady whisper from my lips to verbally form the words that will clarify any misunderstandings or doubts.

"But, Hikaru," I whisper in an urgent tone, digging my fingernails in his flesh, I'm squeezing his hand so tightly. "The weird thing about _this_ nightmare is that seems more like a...a dream than anything else."

I feel my throat close over, and I know I won't be able to say anything else. That's okay, because I don't need to. The slow parting of his lips to emit a silent gasp that never comes and the sight of his chest heaving as his breathing increases dramatically alerts me of his growing understanding.

At the first sign of movement against my trembling hand, I loosen my grip. He wrenches his hand from mine. I had been prepared for that, but it doesn't lessen the feeling of abandonment at all. His other hand leaves the side of my neck, where he had been tenderly fingering my hair. I feel cold again, like how I'd felt when I'd first woke up. Shivers dance up my spine, but I don't show my physical discomfort outwardly, feeling stubborn and angry at myself for having the unintentional reaction.

He grimaces, but his stare doesn't leave my eyes. He doesn't look tempted to look anywhere else, even when moisture begins forming in his eyes, which makes the color look more vivid than usual.

I want to ask him why he's crying, or at least why he hasn't left yet. But after such an outburst, it seems like my voice will no longer work. It simply refuses to cooperate.

"I'm so sorry." he rasps out. He leans forward, grips a handful of sheets in his fist, and continues to speak before I have even a moment to contemplate his words. "I had that stupid idea so that we could be...an asset, I guess, to the Host Club. I didn't stop to think about how you could..._were_ affected by it. It was selfish. I'm sorry, Kaoru."

I don't even attempt to hide the shock that is probably evident on my features. This is no one's fault but mine. He can't control what I dream of, and most certainly, he can't control how I feel about it, and how I feel about him. I'm not even sure of that yet, probably because I've been avoiding thinking about it at all costs. I do know, however, that all of this was, and still is, out of his power of influence. The fact that he's taking responsibility for this makes it even harder for me to deal with, and probably for Hikaru, as well.

A shrill tune disrupts my thoughts. It makes me jolt and almost yelp out loud. I hadn't been aware of how quiet he and I had been keeping our voices or how still the atmosphere had gotten.

The noise sounds familiar, but I'm not sure what object to place it to immediately. When Hikaru shoves a hand in his pocket, almost irritably, and withdraws a flashing object, I finally recognize it as his cell phone. He opens it and places it at his ear, his frown never faltering. The person on the calling end doesn't even wait for a greeting before speaking first. I can tell, by watching Hikaru begin to open his mouth, only to close it a moment later, narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

"I'm fine, Tamaki." he says in a hushed tone. For a moment, I'm instilled with a paralyzing fear that he'll tell Tamaki where we are, because I know, for a fact, that the insistent blond will demand an explanation for Hikaru's absence.

My paranoia must be showing, because Hikaru's eyes soften when his gaze lands on me. It has a calming affect, as I'm sure he intended. It makes me internally question his motives. It also makes me feel guilty for being suspicious, but I can't help it.

"I'm just not feeling well. The cold must have gotten to me...no, he's not. He's ill, as well." he snaps at the phone. I immediately conclude that Hikaru is talking about me. I feel ill in more ways than one. I'm _sick_. I'm sick of myself, I'm sick of being this way, and I'm sick of feeling so exhausted all the time. I doubt Hikaru realizes how honest his explanation to Tamaki is.

"Mmhm. Yeah, I'm sorry. Bye." he finishes, and shuts the phone with a sigh. He probably didn't even have to force himself to act to make the half-lie believable. He sounds drained and exhausted. He might as well be sick.

His eyes fall on me again, and all I can think of is how badly I want to go home and hide in my room. It reminds me of what Mom had said, about being able to leave here by 10 o' clock. I have no idea when that will be because I don't know how long I'd been out. I scan the room for a clock, more for something to get my mind off of the obvious than to actually find out what time it is. There's a generic-looking analog clock above the door frame that reads 7:50. I immediately wish that I hadn't decided to get the time. I have finally seen my fate of a little over two hours with him, and I don't like it.

He could leave this room, I realize with a glimmer of hope. Maybe he'll choose to leave, like he should have already done, like I'm beyond surprised he hasn't done, and loiter about in the expansive, sterile-white hallways of the wing of the hospital we're in. Or, possibly, the opposite wing.

Even now, with that extra weight on my shoulders now that I've told him what I'd once vowed I never would, my emotions aren't as irritatingly conflicting. I just simply want him to leave. I have no other desires at the moment, other than maybe a generous dose of morphine to knock me out for a few hours of oblivious peace, so deeply asleep that I couldn't possibly dream.

But to my displeasure, he makes no movement other than to place his phone back in his pocket. He stands there, quietly, just staring at me in silent contemplation. It seems like this lasts hours, when in reality, only mere moments have gone by.

Finally, he breaks the tense silence in the form of a soft suggestion, or a request. I'm not sure which it is. It isn't with his voice, though. He sighs quietly and walks closer to me. I almost flinch in fear, but the warm look in his eyes pleading for tranquility keeps me from doing so, mostly on a purely instinctual level.

He releases a shaky breath, and finally, his voice pierces the anxious atmosphere surrounding us.

"Move over, please."

His words don't register at first. I can recognize that there's a command hidden somewhere in the statement, and that it requires physical movement, but my comprehension is limited. There's a lingering incredulity in my mind, and that's all I feel. It's all I know.

"You're not gonna make me sit in that uncomfortable chair by your bed until Dad comes by, are you?"

He chuckles, but it sounds humorless and stiff. The smile he's wearing looks forced, as well, but it strangely makes me feel warmer than no effort to lighten things at all. Even though it doesn't work, I feel fortunate that he's trying. I don't think I have the energy or enough desire to try, myself.

When he nudges my shoulder with his hand, the nomadic words floating inside of my skull start to make sense. I jolt and bite my lip to keep the strangled yelp of surprise from escaping. I look at him, desperate to see if anything on his face betrays his motives. That false smile is still in place, though it's faltering. He looks nervous and perhaps even panicked behind it. And then it falls, so suddenly. It's as if he knows it isn't worth wearing anymore because I know how forged it is.

That still doesn't answer my question, though. This is the last thing I'd think he'd suggest after my embarrassing confession. It would make both of us feel a high degree of discomfort neither of us has ever known, probably more so for Hikaru. The physical discomfort from sitting in a low-quality chair would be so much more favorable.

What, then, is he doing?

"Please, Kaoru. Just don't think about it." he murmurs soothingly. I wonder, idly, how he can manage such a comforting tone when his face is displaying his obvious distress, and something else akin to desperation.

It's hard to disoblige Hikaru; it always has been, for me, anyway. I try to shut my brain off, to stop the onslaught of troubling thoughts as Hikaru is advising me to do. It doesn't take the edge off of my anxiety like I'd foolishly hoped it would have, but at least I'm doing what Hikaru is doing. At least I'm trying. Sometimes, that's all that matters, even if it doesn't really affect the outcome of any given situation. It can restore crumbling sanity or dying hope. Sometimes, trying is more than enough.

Against all logic, I try to propel my unwilling body to the right. My forearms lay flat on the bed. They're there to support me, but it feels like the strength I probably hadn't had in the first place is quickly draining from me. I give up when my flesh hits the cold solidness of the arm rest at the edge of the wide hospital bed. The change in temperature makes the air leave my lungs in a loud gasp. Any warmth I've accumulated since waking leaves my body in a rush.

The next thing I feel is the cold's counterpart, the warmth I've had the pleasure of feeling for a few moments during the time I've been in this cold building, and during the time I've been solely in my head, and nowhere else. I shiver in response to the conflicting temperatures, but instinctively lean into the much more comfortable warmth provided for me. The overwhelming feeling of being warm all over, and not in just one part of my body, distracts me from feeling concerned over the sensation of Hikaru breathing against me, or even his lanky arms encircling me and gently guiding my body to lay facing him. I couldn't protest if I tried. The warmth comes with a feeling of paralysis that I can't fight. Strangely, I'm not concerned with that particular aspect of what's happening. It makes me feel safe. I feel secure when I lack the power to influence any given situation. It's because lately, I've had the tendency to corrupt everything without even trying. It doesn't even reverse things when I resist, as well. I've given up control of everything as a result of this discovery.

My gaze stays frozen at his chest, which is still clad in formal wear, though a couple of the top buttons of his shirt are loose and his tie is nearly altogether undone. I suppose that makes it casual wear.

I can feel his stare on my face, but I keep my eyes' object of attention low. I'm afraid of what I'll see in his expression. I don't want to see another fake smile so out of place with the contrast of his distressful eyes. I don't want to see who's holding me, because I would be forced to figure out why he isn't gone, and most of all, why he's _here_, holding me. I would only end up going in endless circles, anyway. My brain is already too chaotic to contain anything of meaning.

He tightens his arms around my frame and pulls me closer until I'm molded against him. My face falls in the space between his neck and his shoulder with nowhere else to go if I'm not ready to look at him yet, and I'm not.

It's so hard to do what he's told me to do. It's against my nature to not think about this, about why it's happening, about how I'm supposed to respond, and about what he's thinking. But I know what he's thinking, without even contemplating it. He's thinking of nothing, like he told me to do. I know this because I know him, and I know that he's the kind of person that actually takes his own advice in addition to giving it. It's an example I should follow. Maybe I can start right now. Maybe I can push rationality away and actually_ look_ at him.

I shift in his arms slightly, tilting my head upward. My forehead brushes his smooth neck. I think I can hear him swallow. My own mouth feels dry, when I think about it. I look at him, unsure and nervous, but still flooded with anxious excitement that I definitely prefer over apathy.

He isn't smiling anymore, but I think there's some spark of emotion akin to happiness in his eyes. It makes me forget the apprehensiveness I'd almost allowed to completely dictate my actions, if only for just a moment. I'm grateful that it diverts my attention away from the growing anxiety in my stomach.

One of his hands, resting on my hip, slowly drifts up my waist until stopping somewhere along my upper back. I tense, unaware of what he's doing or why he's doing it. The only reason I'm not squirming out of his embrace his because his movements are so slow and tentative, they have a counteracting calming effect on me.

The sudden small frown forming on his face, however, puts me on edge. His expression of nervousness is probably a diluted version of my own. When he pulls me closer, even though I hadn't thought that was possible, his face begins to blur. I can't see this close up without straining my eyes, so I close them to keep a headache forming. I've been especially prone to them lately.

It makes me feel vulnerable, not being able to see. I can acutely feel his soft exhalations near my parted mouth. I think, if I concentrate hard enough, I can even taste him. The tip of my tongue tingles pleasantly, and immediately after acknowledging the feeling, I can feel a frown beginning to mar my face. This is too close to what was, is, what _should_ stay a fantasy. He's too close.

I'm tempted to pull away, but he's so warm. He's too warm, and I'm too cold, and it's just too difficult to do what I should do right now.

I think I could get accustomed to being without sight for a few moments. I feel like I can still see, simply feeling his hand resting limply at my back, feeling him breathe against me...feeling the warmth, oh _god_, the warmth on my mouth. I can't move; I can't see; I can't breathe. I can only feel.

I hadn't realized how diluted my dreams are until now. He doesn't feel how I'd expected he would. He doesn't feel cold..._at all_.

My lips part slightly in a silent gasp against his tentative movements. I'm not sure how to respond to this. I've never been so unsure of anything in my entire life. My conflicting thoughts and emotions make it impossible to even think clearly, much less come to a solid conclusion to what is happening, and _why_...

He's slowing, almost stopping, gripping my back tighter with his shaking hand. My skin feels hot. My heart is slowing, and I don't know why. His own is beating erratically against my chest, and I find that I have an insatiable desire to calm it. My hand moves between the heat of our bodies, almost on its own accord, but I do nothing to stop it. The fluttering vibrations against my palm frighten me slightly, because I know he's scared.

I exhale once through my nose, and push back cautiously against his stilling mouth. My brain is a muddled mess. I still can't make sense of anything, except for the fact that this making me feel pleasantly warm in every limb, down to my fingertips.

I begin to worry when his heartbeat increases significantly against my hand. The concern is forgotten, however, when he begins to resume his ministrations.

I can't remember my dreams. I don't think I could, even if I tried. He feels so different. His lips are so soft and slightly moist. They move slowly and tenderly, and a niggling part of me is expecting overwhelming, fervent movements. But he's slow, and silent, and I am, in response. The anxiety we're both feeling is almost palpable in the thick air around me, as is the budding contentment roused by our mingling warmth. The two feelings clash, and that somehow heightens the unfamiliar sensations. A strangled, soft groan forms in my chest and eventually leaves my heated lips, because I'm feeling a desperate _need_ to find a way to expel some of whatever is building in my chest, and dimly within my abdomen. It feels heated, like warm tendrils are wrapping around my thumping heart in an attempt to slow it. I think it's working. All that progress is undone, however, when I feel the vibration of that unintentional sound in my chest. He must feel it, too. There's no way he wouldn't be able to. And he can feel it against his lips, and _hear_ it, oh god, I know he can.

I grow tense in his inescapable embrace, having not even realized I'd relaxed until now. His grip tightens, and I feel closer when that should be impossible. I struggle to breathe through my nose. It's difficult, because I'm so snug against him.

I'm distracted from my thoughts when he gently nips at my lower lip. He's trembling against me again. Whether it's from anxiousness or excitement, I'm not sure. The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm not sure of _anything_. I can't make sense of what's happening. I don't think I want to.

My lips part slightly in astonishment, feeling him tenderly suck at the heated flesh, coaxing it into his mouth.

"Hnn..." I unintentionally murmur against his lips. I think I'm too far gone to care about that. Well, _much_, anyway. My heart still thrums in my chest due to my paranoia, but I can forget it by focusing on the pleasure that's making me feel weightless against these itchy sheets. His mouth parts further, and for a moment, I'm almost convinced he's about to speak. That's foolish, because he isn't really in a position to say anything coherent at the moment. Instead, he exhales shortly in a brief gasp and twists the thin fabric on my back tightly in his trembling fingers.

His movements stop, so suddenly my mind is thrown into a jumbled mess of confusion while he loosens his arms slightly from around me.

My sudden encounter with reality is shocking. Its immediate appearance makes me even more confused as to what just happened and _why_...why it stopped. It's hard to find an answer, though, because I'm not even sure _what_ has stopped.

The only thing I can process at the moment is the absence of the feeling of his eyelashes fluttering against my flushed cheeks, peculiarly, and the sight of his supple lips parted for the expulsion of short pants.

"Hik—Hik...aru..." I mumble, trying to speak around my own irregular breaths. I'm not sure why his name decided to roll off of my tongue at this particular moment, slightly fragmented. I don't recall having had a particular purpose in saying it, for a question or even for the sake of just saying it. I think my descent back to reality is a bit more gradual than I'd first assumed, because it's still infuriatingly difficult to comprehend things.

"_Kaoru_," he breathes. "I'm...I'm so sorry. I didn't mean..." he trails off, either unable to say it or too exhausted and overwhelmed to. The echo of his voice, just above a whisper, rings in my ears. The most prominent aspect of it is the desperate, uncharacteristic tone. The sound of it is in the background of my mind while I desperately grasp at any pieces of information that could possibly lead me to understanding some concept I can't even begin to identify.

My lips are tingling, as well as almost every other part of my body. The physical factors are what help me puzzle things together. My astonishment pollutes every piece of me, down to the depth of my soul if such a thing is actually possessed by every single individual in the collective group of humanity. Shouldn't I have one, then?

That unique taste still lingers on my lips, I discover, when I bring my bottom lip in my mouth to chew thoughtfully. I'm waiting for whatever questionable emotions I'm feeling right now to ebb away, to be replaced by either horror or shame, or some awful combination of both. Those feelings don't have the opportunity to dominate me right now, though. I'm much too confused for the approaching fear to control my words and actions. I have a demanding force in the front of my mind that first and foremost needs an answer.

"Why?" I ask softly, unable to raise my voice right now. I hate sounding vulnerable and pathetic, but unfortunately, I think that's exactly what I am. I don't have the ability to muster up the energy to sound firm, anyway. I don't think I ever will with Hikaru.

He's far away enough that I can look at him without my vision blurring. My eyes dart to his before I can think about the potential ramifications of doing it. If I don't get a verbal answer, maybe I can find one in his poorly guarded eyes.

The obvious anxiousness in his face is making me slightly panicked, as well. I've smothered it and inadvertently allowed it to grow, and now it's creeping up on me and strangling my throat from the inside.

"When you told me about those...those nightma—_dreams_...you've been having, the first thing I felt was anger." he says, his voice growing in volume and wavering slightly by the end of his statement.

I grip the sheets below me in my shaking fists, only half-forgetting that he hasn't answered my question. I look downward as my breathing becomes labored. I don't want to look at him anymore; I _can't_. I wish he would leave.

"Oh...Kaoru, no, not at you. I wasn't angry at you. Just c-calm down and look at me, because I can't do this if you're not looking at me."

It's slightly amusing in a bitter way, how he's telling me to calm down when his voice is betraying his own obvious inner turmoil. I don't want to see that in his eyes, but the niggling curiosity overpowers my fear. He's further twisted everything about this into a more tangled, incomprehensible web of confusion. Before he leaves, or before _I_ leave, I need to find out what I can. Being in a perpetual state of ignorance almost makes me physically shudder.

His hand is at the side of my jaw, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing my neck before I can oblige his desperate request. His fingers are trembling ever-so slightly above my pulse, but he forces himself to still their movement, if just a bit. His attempt at achieving composure, and half-succeeding at it, inspires me to try to do the same.

His hand drifts underneath my chin. My breath hitches in response, and I'm not sure why. My cluelessness makes me squirm uncomfortably, but it doesn't prompt me to resist when he tilts my head upward.

His eyes are shining, which makes me sure that he's holding in an onslaught of emotions right now. I have the urge to comfort him like the older brother I'm not, like how he used to do. All I've done is take. And now, lately, I've been resisting his repeated attempts at consoling me about something he hadn't even known about. He still continues to offer the love and affection I'd once eagerly taken from him, even now, when it's obvious he has nothing left to give.

I want to be the one to give this time. I just don't know how I possibly could without making the situation worse. It makes me so frustrated that I literally want to tear my hair out. I resist the urge, though, and obediently hold his stare, even though it's only making me feel more awkward.

"I wasn't angry at you," he repeats, still not removing his fingers from underneath my chin. "I was angry at myself, even though I hadn't done anything to be angry about...or ashamed of yet. When you told me about those dreams, it wasn't a big deal. But when you made it clear that it wasn't so much about the dreams, that it was mostly about how you grew to feel about them...I...god, I was just really afraid."

It sounds like with every word, he loses a precious piece of his already thinly-worn composure. I want to be solid when he isn't; I really do. But I can't, especially with my brain scarcely being able to keep up with every word that leaves Hikaru's mouth. I hope he concludes whatever he's trying to say with a clear answer, because the befuddlement that leaves me shaking under his hands in addition to the approaching panic is destroying me from the inside right now.

"I was afraid because I knew—_know_—that I'll never be able to stop it. I'll never be able to stop this...this thing you're dealing with, or even make it just a little more bearable. I was afraid that I might even go as far as initiating something. That fear is justified, obviously. And I was ashamed, because I don't want to be some source of dysfunction in your life, when you've already got enough of that. I want to be healthy and stable. I really, really do. But I can't do that. I'm not..."

He trails off, but that doesn't matter. I understand what he's saying. I understand as well as I ever will, anyway. I'm bombarded with a cataclysm of emotions brought on by his sudden honesty and the way he tears his gaze from mine.

I feel mournful of the person I thought he was, the person that perhaps he once was. The only difference between Hikaru and I regarding this issue is that he's a little better at ignoring it, in hopes that it will go away. I know it did go away, or at least it was dormant. That's why I'm so angry at myself. Maybe my dysfunction has a gravitational force. It seems to have awakened something in him, either once completely absent or just very well ignored and smothered. Whichever the case, it's my fault Hikaru probably feels so uncomfortable in his own skin right now.

I tentatively drape my arm around his waist to pull him into a loose hug, wanting, for once, to be the solid, stable brother for him. It's anything but a loose hug, though, when he returns my embrace. It almost feels like he's been holding back from touching me. I know that feeling very well.

As I cautiously press my lips to his cheek in a comforting gesture, worried that this comfort will be rejected for justified reasons, I wonder how our roles got reversed so easily. My previous desire to comfort him isn't nearly as strong, because I realize now what kind of a state he has to be in to actually need consolation.

I begin to grow aware of his gradually slowing breaths ghosting over my jaw and down my neck. I'm unable to stop the shudder that travels up my spine. Before the regret of allowing myself to do that has a chance to set in, I listen as his breath hitches for a moment. He curls into me. The warmth that envelopes me is sudden and unexpected, but not unwelcome.

My lips drift downward, to his jaw. The desire to hear his breathing become irregular because of something other than discomfort or panic lowers my inhibitions. It lowers my logic to nearly nothing, as well, feeling him clutch blindly at the small of my back in anticipation for something I can't even begin to predict.

He tilts his head to the side in an almost languid manner. My mouth slides from his smooth jaw to his lips. My lips tremble with an edge of anxiety, which is currently ebbing away with the approaching veil of warmth.

It's more fervent and hurried than the last one. I mindlessly move my hand lower, to his hip, and begin tracing the swell of the bone. He gasps silently in my mouth in response, stilling his movements momentarily before pushing against me. I mold against him, trembling, but not from nervousness this time.

Something warm and moist begins prodding my lower lip delicately. It makes me aware that my mouth is mostly closed, and his lips are noticeably parted. I open my mouth just slightly in response, not quite sure why I'm doing it or what this heated intrusion is yet, and—_oh_...!

"Uhn..." he hums lowly. My body responds to it, and I feel the need to release the burning vocalization forming in my throat.

That deliciously warm muscle is exploring my waiting mouth, uninhibitedly dancing with my own tongue. His hand drifts upward, along my back. I arch into his touch as he traces the ridges of my spine softly with his dexterous fingers.

I can't think of anything that has to do with anything outside of this moment. You're told that you're supposed to live in the moment, and while it seems relatively easy, it's nearly impossible when you try it. But I'm not even trying right now. Thinking of nothing except for this, and feeling everything this moment is offering comes naturally. I wish it was this easy at least half of the time.

His hand travels around my waist, toward the front. His fingers continue to leave a warm trail in their wake until he stops at my lower abdomen. I rock forward, craving more of it, stifling a groan.

Unexpectedly, he pulls away, leaving a wet mess around my mouth. I follow what he's doing—not because of imitation, but only for my sheer need for oxygen—and begin gasping. The air tastes thick and almost sticky. I imagine it coating the walls of my lungs and staying there, never being able to leave, and suddenly, I have to stifle a cough.

The place where his hand had been, where his nimble fingers had doted on, is cold now. I'm beginning to feel cold all over again. Not even the feeling of his warm breaths puffing out on my face and flowing down my chest brings back the comfort I should have never sought.

He wriggles away from me, separating our heated flesh. I can detect the drastic change in his demeanor without even glancing at him. He's colder, too.

He releases a shaky breath before shattering the tense atmosphere with a whisper.

"Go to sleep, Kaoru."

I can almost hear the nonverbal excuses circulating in his active mind. _You're not healthy right now. You need sleep. You should be asleep until our ride comes, because that will make time seem to go by faster._

He doesn't understand, though. He doesn't know that in my dreams, time just barely crawls by.

That's why I can't sleep.

* * *

_A/N: It's posted a little later than I'd planned, but...eh. It's longer, too, so whatever. Oh, oh! One more thing! I want to thank my anonymous reviewers. Aaaand, thank you, liquidity, for beta reading this. I really appreciate it. :D So, thanks~!_

_Review? :o_


	12. Numb

T w e l v e

_- Numb -_

It's a nurse, faceless in my mind, that alerts us of our father's arrival. I can't move or speak. I still feel weighed down by this self-imposed constriction of whatever animates my body. I can still feel his warmth, Hikaru's contagious body heat, radiating from the short gap between us. I've been absorbing it selfishly while contemplating why some sparks of excitement still keep me awake.

A slight jostling interrupts my inner musings, which I'm using as a distraction from thinking about the obvious.

"Kaoru, c'mon; we can leave now." he mumbles, shaking my shoulder with a tentative touch. My eyes widen in response to the explosion of sensation that it brings. When I don't reply, physically or verbally, his hand stops, but his grip on my shoulder tightens slightly. His warm fingertips leave an imprint on my skin, but that's solely a mental belief. I don't base that on how roughly he's touching me, because he isn't rough at all. He's gentle, but my mind refuses to perceive it that way.

"Do you feel okay enough to walk?" he asks me, concern coloring his tone. I nod lazily in response. I just wish he would stop worrying. He isn't distancing himself like I'd hoped. I feel so helpless that I don't even want to exert myself by caring about it. Carelessness isn't in my nature, though, unfortunately.

His hand leaves my shoulder, sliding down the top of my arm, before he speaks again.

"The nurse left some clothes that Dad dropped off for you. I'll wait outside while you get dressed, unless you need help or something, which would be understandable, considering what happened—"

"I'll be fine." I cut him off. "If I wasn't able to _dress_ myself, I doubt they'd be letting be go home so early. Just...leave. I'll be done soon."

That voice doesn't sound like mine. I'm never this irritable, especially with Hikaru. The sound of it makes me cringe, but I can't make myself regret using such a short tone. I don't want him to think that I need him. I don't want him to get the idea that I subsist completely on his presence, even though my loss of control earlier would suggest otherwise.

"Okay, if you're sure." he mumbles, sounding slightly taken aback because of my tone, I'd assume. "But just in case, if you want, you could just go in the bathroom to change, and I could wait right here, if you're worried about...about _that_."

That, I'm certain, is the exposure of my unclothed body. That wouldn't have been an issue before. We've seen each other completely uncovered and unabashed countless times for countless reasons, some of them being conservation of time when there just wasn't enough of it during some hurried mornings when the shower was in high demand, as we're not permitted to use our parents' personal shower. Or, perhaps, during the many times we've had to dress in whatever outlandish costume Tamaki had us wear, in the dressing room, together, as it's always been.

It was never a problem. Neither of us thought twice about it, until this came up.

"You don't need to do that, Hikaru. I'll be fine. Just go find Dad and wait. I'll be done soon, okay?" I mutter, softer this time, but with the same blunt touch of annoyance. It's used to mask what I'm really feeling. I'm not ready to strip myself of everything so that he can see the storm of emotions brewing just dangerously under the surface, and I never will be.

He doesn't reply. He just sighs quietly, but I can't discern much of what he's feeling from that alone. I won't look at him to find out, though. I'm not sure that I want to find out.

I listen intently as he slides off of the bed, warm from our bodies due to the sudden rush of blood flowing underneath our flesh as a result of our erratic heartbeats, twinning in frequency, but contrasting in the exact movements of constriction and expansion.

I felt it, very acutely. I felt everything.

The sound of his nearly silent footsteps echo in my mind, sounding oddly loud. There's a moment of thick silence that doesn't have any right to be in the room, wedging itself between the moment his footsteps quieted and the intervals between our shallow breathing. The hesitation is almost imperceptible, but it's still largely significant. The certainty regarding that thought applies to both of us.

He opens the door, finally, and swiftly steps out. I can determine so much from simply the sound of his footsteps, I muse idly, as the heavy door clicks shut.

It's quiet, probably more so than it should be in a busy hospital, even when taking into account that I have no physical connection to the outside world as of now. I can hear the repetitive ticking of the analog clock, so loudly and clearly; I find it astonishing that the sound of our rapidly changing exhalations hadn't been deafening.

I quietly scan the room for only a few moments before finding a bag on the visitors' chair near the bed. From what I can see, the contents are haphazardly folded.

The stillness of the room gives me an odd sense of peace among the torn fragments of my insides. That tranquility, with the contrasting chaos, is reinforced with the aching in my weak lungs.

Knowing that I can't stall any longer, I lethargically swing my legs over the edge of the bed, keeping my eyes downcast. The cold of the room stings my bare legs as soon as they're exposed to the cool air. I fight the oncoming shiver by gripping the sheets at my side roughly and groaning through my clenched teeth. I hate not being in control of my body's reactions to anything, including temperature. This abhorrence stems from the fact that I can't control how I react in response to stimulation. I feel like if I can't control something as simple as that, what _can_ I control?

My bare feet feel cold as soon as they touch the floor, even though it's carpeted. My joints protest, rather angrily, as I straighten up. It feels like I haven't used my body at all in a very long time. The wave of dizziness that crashes on me as soon as I gain an erect posture almost sends me tumbling back into bed, but I fight it, doing my best to remain in control of my equilibrium.

I shuffle to the bag, squinting in an attempt to see what it is before I actually touch it. I've always been cautious that way. I like looking at things before I touch them, just in case. _Just in case _I won't have the chance to change my mind about it after exploring with my fingers.

The bag of clothes is hardly a hazard, but my cautious inquisitiveness is like second nature to me. I don't even bother to squelcher it, knowing that it would be futile to try.

My eyes remain staring where they are as I fumble at my back, where the tie to undo this loathsome hospital gown is. It's loosely tied, so I don't have to spend a lot of time undoing the knot. It basically falls off of me after that, with hardly any effort on my part to get it off. I wonder why they would give me a size that's much too large for me. It makes things easier, though, so I'm not irritated about it.

I hiss out loud at the sudden sensation of the biting cold on my bare skin. It's easy to blame it on the temperature rather than my own perceptions.

I reach for the bag and grab the first thing on the top, a pair of boxers. I'm so desperate to wear something, to keep this vulnerable feeling from taking complete control, that I hardly hesitate when I see that these boxers belong to Hikaru. Dad, justifiably, must have been in a hurry. He probably dashed into the first of our bedrooms that was available and grabbed whatever his hands first touched. Of course, it wouldn't matter to him, since Hikaru and I wear the exact same size. It shouldn't matter to me, either, but I feel like it does.

Still, I'm freezing, so I tear my accusatory gaze from the innocent boxers secured in my tight grip and proceed to put them on. They don't make me feel any warmer, but I continue to put the clothes, Hikaru's clothes, on my trembling frame in a desperate frenzy. They're all Hikaru's. The slim, white tank top is his, the baggy jeans are his, the socks are his, those rarely-worn converse sneakers are his..._everything_.

They don't make me feel any warmer. There isn't even a sweater to rectify the situation, but it probably wouldn't, anyway.

I release a shuddering breath and turn on my heel toward the door. I have to shuffle carefully because I hadn't bothered in tying the laces, and I certainly don't want to fall flat on my face.

My hand rests on the doorknob for a few moments. I try to compose my expression and ignore the goosebumps raising on every inch of my flesh before leaving this place, before seeing Hikaru again. I would give anything to leave the memories of what happened in this room _in this room_. It needs to stay here. I'm afraid that I haven't suffered enough for what I succumbed to, and that the punishment for it is going to come for me when I least expect it. It will be so much worse if I'm not prepared for it.

I'm worried about Hikaru, too, and how badly his peace of mind has been disturbed, even if it wasn't that stable in the first place because of me. I want to take whatever disgust he's feeling onto myself, because I know that this is my fault. I shouldn't have told him. I shouldn't have made it so blatantly obvious that there's a part of me that yearns for him in a way I shouldn't.

I try to abandon those thoughts, though because I know it isn't aiding me at all in calming myself.

Ignoring my forming headache,—which, I'm sure, is only the first of many—I grip the cold metal of the doorknob in my sweaty palm and pull it open soundlessly, my eyes downcast.

There's a soft, warm feeling against me again—in a shocking impact, which is such a contrast from the heat—the one I attribute with Hikaru, and then that reverse sensation that I've grown to fear more than almost anything, save for myself. My mind can't keep up with all of the sensations it's being forced to process, since it's just about as sluggish as my body is. All I know is that though my legs are sprawled out uncomfortably underneath me, the rest of my body has remained suspended in his arms. The muscles of his forearms are taut against my back, and the tips of his fingers are pressing into my thinly-clothed sides. That's when I realize that I've walked right into him. The impact felt harder than it should have, considering that my pace had been very slow.

I shiver involuntarily. My body remembers how he feels, much too clearly for my liking.

I tilt my head back so that I can look at him, but it's slightly difficult to see through the hair hanging limply in front of my face. What I can see, though, is the widening of his eyes as he looks down at me.

"Are you okay? Kaoru, I'm so sorry. I hadn't realized how close to the door I was standing. It just...opened, and I couldn't get out of your way in time." he says, all in one awkward rush of words.

I just stare up at him, too dumbfounded to say anything. I'm reminded of our position when his arms shift to accommodate my weight more efficiently, his arms sliding to the small of my back. I squirm in his arms wildly when I feel his hands touch my bare flesh where the shirt I'm wearing has ridden up slightly, fighting the urge to groan out loud in frustration and relief. He makes me feel warm—cared for—and I _hate_ that. I hate the fact that because I can't feel comfortable in my own skin, I have to find solace in the feeling of his, whether it be in my dreams or in my bitter reality.

When he notices my outward discomfort, he moves to pull me upward, back on my feet. It requires him to hold me tighter as he straightens up. My eyes fall half-lidded as the feeling of him seeps deep into my bones.

I'm dimly aware that my feet are on the ground again, but the fact that his arms are still tightly wound around my torso diverts my attention from that.

"Kaoru..." he murmurs senselessly. His arms don't loosen, even though I'm not returning his accidental embrace. That doesn't mean this isn't welcomed. It is, but it shouldn't be, not in my current state of mind.

His hands drift slightly lower until his fingers find the hem of my...of _his_ shirt, where he begins fingering the fabric idly.

"We should...we should go find Dad." he mumbles, sounding far away. I feel far away, too. I feel a disconnection to reality. Hikaru has always transcended my reality, which has been made more apparent in the last few weeks than it ever has in the many years we've spent growing up together.

"I thought you were going to." I murmur, my voice sounding uncharacteristically dull, even to my own ears.

"I was. But...safety in numbers, right?" he replies. I can hear a humorless sort of amusement in his voice as he says it.

I'm not sure how I should feel about his concern. I repress most of the blossoming emotions in my chest, like I'm growing so used to doing. It doesn't stop me from feeling something, though, that prompts me to raise my arms thoughtlessly.

I feel light. My limbs feel weightless. His gaze is the only thing keeping me still rooted, admittedly loosely, to earth. My desire to feel him silences the screaming protests in the back of my mind. I think I'm going by an irrational belief that he'll make what I'm afraid of go away, like he always did in the past, even if it turned out that his fear rivaled mine, or even surpassed it. His need to comfort me outweighed all of that, though. I want to feel something like that. I want to find something to grasp onto that will help me allude to the past in my mind when I need to.

My arms wrap themselves lightly around his waist. I feel him pulling me closer to him without resistance from me. I can also feel him sigh against my neck, and the tautness of his muscles draining. It makes me relax further against him in response.

I only have the ability to understand just the surface of what this means to me. I can't analyze it very well from an objective standpoint, probably because there's a large part of me that doesn't want to. Hikaru is the only person that can make that part of me dominant, and he doesn't even know it.

"Kaoru! Hikaru!" a voice sounds, just barely penetrating the thick bubble Hikaru and I have inadvertently created around ourselves. Things start melting back into place when I feel Hikaru shift against me. He feels taut again, like any semblance of calm he's acquired has suddenly been drained from him. I feel it, too, and the sudden shame toward myself at my lack of self-control. I can't be doing this. I can't—

"Ah...I've found you, finally. I was getting worried. It seems like I've been expecting you both to show up in the waiting room for such a long time." he explains, sounding slightly out of breath. It's Dad, I realize, pulling away from my brother.

I know that it isn't impatience that prompted him to look for us, as he probably hasn't really been here that long. I know he hasn't. I do know, however, that he doesn't deal with tragedy, even minor tragedy, well at all. Call it paranoia, obsessiveness, parental concern, or just a combination of the three, but whatever it is, I can't blame him for it.

I focus on analyzing my father's personality rather than the lack of control I just displayed, because obviously, it's easier. It's a distraction. I know better. I know that I'll probably end up thinking about the monster I'm fostering later, but I'd rather not deal with troubling thoughts in front of Hikaru. His ability to read me is uncanny. I don't want to worry him at all, even though I know it's much too late for that.

I turn around, but not to face my dad. I just can't keep looking at Hikaru anymore. I lose my inhibitions around him, and I use those to keep me sane. I can't let him take those away. Can I stop myself from giving them to him, though? There's a cold, dark fear—a prediction, actually—that I really won't be able to stop myself.

My father looks awkward, like he isn't sure what to do. This is different. I've always thought of him as a self-assured, confident man. And yet he looks clueless. What's more is that it looks _natural_. He looks, at this moment, like the kind of man that could act this way all the time and have it seem completely natural. I'm not sure how I feel about it, other than being mildly surprised.

Hikaru breaks the tense silence in a quiet, almost cautious voice.

"We should probably leave."

It's logical and obvious. It should have been the first thought on my mind, but it wasn't. It was the furthest thing from my mind. I mentally reprimand myself for being so out of tune with reality, once again.

Dad looks relieved, and probably for a legitimate reason. His awkwardness is odd, because I know he's been in situations where the fate of everyone is in his hands. But when it comes down to personal matters that don't involve business, he can't function very well. That's okay, though. At least he deals with it. At least he doesn't repress it like Mom does as a defense mechanism. Unfortunately, I tend to take after her in that sense. It's easy to make myself indifferent to tense situations by adopting an impersonal attitude. But when it's so personal with me, though, like it is now, it's so much harder to ignore.

Hikaru's hand hangs dangerously near mine. I can feel the pleasant heat radiating from it. He grasps my hand in his, and our fingers lace together clumsily in the process.

I have to obey only one feeling. I can't go with two, even though it seems easier that way. It would be easier because it's impossible, and the only possible things available are tortuously difficult.

Set on what the most logical choice would be, I take my hand from his and forcibly stuff it in the pocket of my jeans, stubbornly keeping my eyes from his. I need to convey the message to him that I don't need him to hold my hand, both literally and metaphorically. The horrible part about it, though, is that I think I _do_ need him to hold my hand. But I can't let him do that, for both my sake and his. He would inevitably have to let go of it someday. He'll be wondering why he even tried in the first place, and I'll be wondering when he let go, when he left, and where he is.

I would rather not know what it feels like to feel fulfilled when I'm left empty-handed, quite literally.

* * *

My hair feels wet, probably because it's pushed up against the condensation of the window. I honestly don't care right now, though. The cold dampness on my scalp almost helps freeze my thoughts into a state of dormancy, I think. It helps numb them.

The verbal exchanges between Dad and Hikaru are quiet. Either that, or I'm just too tired to hear anything. I'm glad Hikaru can be here to answer any questions. I can't right now. I really can't. After plopping down on the smooth back seat of our father's car, I felt any leftover energy I may have possessed completely bleed from me. I can't do much of anything right now. I find it hard to even worry, which is something I've found I'm exceptionally good at.

It's too quiet now. The dull buzz of their conversation is absent. I almost want to open my eyes to see if this is real, so that I can reassure myself that I haven't drifted off to sleep. I could be dreaming. I didn't know I could get so sleepy that the line between dreams and reality could blur so drastically.

I decide that I'm still awake when I feel a familiar warm sensation on my hand. Hikaru cups my palm gently. I shiver, feeling the familiar fear roused from the action, but I decide to do nothing about it. I'm too exhausted to protest anymore. I just need to know why he isn't giving up, like I'm still desperately hoping—and dreading—that he will.

It feels dead, still, and silent in here. I think that means we've arrived home. I don't look up, or even open my eyes, to confirm that, though. I just want to stay in here a little longer, or maybe forever, and feel the numbing cold of the window against my skull.

His fingers are deftly drifting across my forehead, bringing a lock of hair with them. I almost respond to it by flinching, but I stifle the urge. I realize that my eyes are closed and that my form is lax. It's very plausible that he thinks I'm sleeping.

_Maybe it's better that way_, I think to myself as one of his arms slip underneath my knees and his other around the back of my midsection. This way, I can tell myself that this is a dream and that I can't help my lack of response. I don't have the ability to squirm out of his arms as he maneuvers both of us out of the car. I can't control what happens in my dreams. I can't stop him from carrying me inside, and I can't stop myself from enjoying the feeling of being carefully cradled in his arms.

It's better this way, because it's so much easier to lie to myself than face what I know to be the truth.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah...it's a lot shorter than the other chapter. Fuckin' shit. Oh well. This should've been posted earlier. It's been written for awhile, but the thing is, I'm too lazy to actually post it. Like, I can write things on time, but when it comes to posting it, it's suddenly a huge effort for me. 0.o_

_I'm worried about posting this because FF kind of fucked the document up. I fixed what I saw, but I'm afraid that it like...made something italic that isn't supposed to be italic, for example. I might not have caught all of the epic FAIL._

_Your reviews touch me in very appropriate ways (not the kind of ways you're thinking of, you pervert). The kind ones make me happy, and the ones that have concrit make me really happy as well, because I know you care enough to let me know what I'm doing right and what I could improve on._

_Until next time~!  
-giggles gayly-_


	13. Breathe

T h i r t e e n

_- Breathe -_

I'm very alert, even though my senses probably should be dulled as a result of my crippling exhaustion. I don't think I could fall asleep in his arms even if I wanted to, though. I couldn't fall asleep in the presence of anything animate. It makes me feel vulnerable.

I'm having a difficult time keeping my eyes shut as he carries me through the seemingly endless hallways. I know he wouldn't drop me—on purpose, anyway—but I think my fear of falling is justifiable at the moment. I wonder if he would consider that if he knew of my wakefulness.

He probably would.

I know immediately when he walks into my room. The smell of it—the feeling of it sticking to me and tainting the flesh Hikaru isn't touching—of the long, restless nights, the bittersweet tang of those dreams, and the attentive gaze of those ever-watching plastic stars on my ceiling make themselves known all at once.

A shiver works its way up my spine because of the haunted feeling I get, but I remain limp in his arms. I'm determined to keep this charade up. It's a test for myself. If I fail it, I might as well give up every shred of control I still have, which isn't much, admittedly.

The feeling of weightlessness is lost when he places me on my bed, which is still unmade. The smell of rubbing alcohol still lingers in the air, too, surprisingly. But maybe that's just my imagination. I can't tell the difference anymore.

His arms slide out from under me, very slowly. I physically shudder when the warm pads of his fingers drift across an exposed patch of skin where this infernally loose shirt has ridden up. My mind is torn between brutally berating myself and focusing on the burning sensation on my bare flesh.

I'm almost sure he's noticed my reaction. His hands aren't moving and I can't even hear him breathe. It's almost like he feels that he has to stay completely still and silent to observe everything correctly so that his suspicions can be confirmed. I need to do _something_, because adrenaline flooding through me is so hard to ignore. _Something_, just something to quench this burst of anxiety coming in the form of raw energy.

But I'm supposed to be asleep. I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea to feign unconsciousness, even to myself, but I've gone too far to change my mind now. Feeling him like this has come at a price, as I should have known, as I really _did_ know.

I could be dreaming, though. People show physical responses to dreams all the time. It's a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why I'm not sleeping soundly when I really should be, considering the pathetic amount of sleep I've been getting lately. Hikaru knows that. He also knows more than he did, more than I thought he ever would. He could be drawing perfectly logical conclusions right now, replaying the sound of my breath hitching and the feeling of my muscles tensing underneath his hands.

And so, I'm not sure what's worse. I'm not sure if Hikaru believing that I'm really not asleep is worse than him being convinced that I'm _dreaming_.

I have to make a special effort to compose my features when I think of what he's probably thinking. The horror is so hard to keep inside me, especially with the nausea roiling in my empty stomach, making me want to grimace. I can't stop the blood from draining from my face, though, or the sudden perspiration forming on my clammy skin.

His arms continue to move out from underneath my body, apparently having gotten over his hesitation. I want to open my eyes so badly. Even though I know I can't determine much of the inner workings of Hikaru's mind simply by sight, the desire to see what I can still demands answers. He probably looks so raw and unadulterated, now that I'm not looking. I'm still feeling, though. I'm feeling everything. Unfortunately, that tells me nothing regarding the person I thought I knew so much about.

He's started breathing again. It sounds like he's struggling to slow the rapidity of it. It makes me uncomfortable to know how uneasy he must be right now.

My breath catches in my throat when I feel his hand at my forearm. His fingers trail down it lightly. Goosebumps form on the surface of my flesh in response, but I force myself to ignore that so that I can try to figure out what he's doing.

I wonder if he can feel my rapid pulse as he brings the appendage off of the bed to a shallow elevation. My musings are cut off and forgotten when I feel the sudden warmth of his lips at my wrist. It's so light and gentle; he isn't exuding any pressure at all. It's just a light touch, hardly there, but still very perceptible.

"Please don't be afraid." he whispers against my skin. The heat of his breath is electrifying. It's so distracting that I almost miss his words completely. But I can't ignore the piercing of the silence or the feeling of his lips lightly moving against my flesh as he speaks quietly.

The words repeat over and over again in my head, a rapid and unstoppable cycle, as he gently places my arm back on the bed.

Even as his silent footsteps—loud enough for my ears—gradually disappear as he makes his exit, I don't open my eyes. There isn't a reason to anymore. Hikaru isn't here; there's nothing to see that I haven't seen before. It seems strange, thinking that way. But it seems like lately, every time I look at my twin, I'm seeing someone different than who I thought he was, both inside and out.

I wonder if I've ever seemed that way to him.

_Please don't be afraid._

The phrase makes my head pound harder with every syllable. I still hear it, even though he's no longer saying it to me. What did he mean? What shouldn't I be afraid of? Myself? My dreams? _Hikaru_? But am I really afraid of him?

The technical definition of the words eventually deadens. The meaning is becoming more and more lost with every repetition in my brain. I realize how futile it is to try to unlock the mystery to this, especially with my mind so dull from sleep deprivation.

Just because I can't assess it well, however, doesn't mean the questions demanding an answer will quiet any. The lingering confusion refuses to go away.

It seems like Hikaru's remark is having the opposite effect it should. It's making me more afraid and uneasy than I have been today, if anything. He's never been such an enigma. I hate that I can't read into his words like I used to be able to, when they weren't so unclear.

On top of that, there's another subject I should be presently worrying about. I feel like an actor that fits into his part much too perfectly, to the point where he's deluded himself to believing he really is who he's trying to portray with such astonishing accuracy. I feel like I'm teetering dangerously over the edge of unconsciousness. It's futile to fight it; I know that, knowing myself and how easily I give into temptation. It frightens me to know that I'm already beyond the point of influencing this.

I can only guess when I'll cross the indiscernible line between reality and fantasy. The two are blurred, even when I'm awake. That's especially been reinforced with the unspeakable events of today.

It's timeless, too. I don't know what the past or the present is, even though I desperately try to figure it out with my useless brain.

My sleep is broken at random intervals, which has never happened before. That's the only logical thing I can comprehend before plunging back into what I've been running from, and hiding from when running didn't work. I feel like I'm being suffocated, like I'm trapped under water with no way out, trapped—

—_under his smoldering gaze. It eradicates any desire within me to figure this out. I want to touch him, to find out if he's real or not. But I can't. My body feels weighed down by something. He can move so effortlessly, so fluidly, and I can't. I just can't—_

—wake up. I feel like I need someone here to confirm to me that I'm sane or insane, or that I'm awake or asleep. I don't care which at this point. I just need to know, so badly. I can't stand not knowing whether or not there's an end to—

—_the burning trail of open-mouthed kisses down my heaving chest. The uncomfortable feeling of my active mind being trapped in a nonactive body is gradually fading into the background of my mind as I focus on his palms at my knees, gently parting my unresponsive legs so that he can fit snugly in between them. Heat pools in my lower abdomen, and I release a breathy sigh in anticipation for something that—_

—shouldn't be happening. This shouldn't be happening. Why can't I move? Why does it feel like if I fail to gain control of what's happening, it will be the end of me? God, I can't breathe. I can't _breathe_. If I can't breathe, why am I not dying? It isn't fair. I should be granted that luxury. I need to escape the feeling of being asphyxiated. I would do anything to break free from this inescapable prison of my body, of—

—_his embrace. The constriction feels welcome, even though I'm receiving more than enough of that from myself. He rocks forward and our pelvises collide, capturing the heat radiating from just about every area of our bodies in the hollows of our hips and crevices of the jutting bone there. I can only absorb it. I can only feel the raw pleasure dancing through my veins, but I can't respond to it. The ability to breathe has robbed me of the opportunity to say anything, not that I need to; not that I could. I can't remember how to form words at the moment. I can't remember—_

—ever feeling this afraid. I wasn't ready to relinquish control of anything just yet, but it's too late to brood on that now. I'm living a nightmare and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I feel like everything would be okay if I could just _breathe_ again. That small necessity is all I really need right now. That, and some insight into why I can't move. I feel half here, smothered between the oppressive force of my own mind and—

—_his flushed body, trembling and slick with sweat against my own. I quiver underneath him when he releases a shaky whisper against my skin, near my collar bone. The quiet words reach my ears before my climax can._

"_Don't be afraid."_

The rush of air comes so quickly, I almost fall back into oblivion under the sheer force of it. My lungs heave, expanding and collapsing in rapid movements with the sudden abundance of oxygen in my stuffy room. I want to cry out in relief. I can breathe again. I don't feel like I'm caught in a spider's web anymore, awaiting my brutal end.

If it weren't for the glow-in-the-dark stars above me, I wouldn't know whether my eyes are open or not. It's so dark; I can't see anything.

Something still lingers from the dream—it was so unclear in every sense, but it's one I'll never be able to forget. The throbbing heat between my thighs is nothing new, unfortunately. But the intensity of it is. My blood runs cold when I grow more and more aware of the throbbing organ. The disgust isn't over-running this time, like it should, like it always has. This desperate need had always ended with my dream. And I know, without even thinking very deeply about it, why this is. The reason only makes it so much worse.

I remember him, how he feels and how he tastes, even when I'm asleep. I'll never be able to forget it. I'll never be able to forget how much I enjoyed the person he morphed into at the hospital. I'll never be able to get over how _wrong_ I think that is, either. Those two feelings have no right to coexist.

I have the familiar desire to see how he's sleeping. I've felt this only once before. I'd discovered that he was sleeping, possibly quite fitfully, but deeply, for the most part. The thick veil of slumber may have been the worst part for him, as it just had been for me. It can be a prison, and even though it's temporary, it certainly doesn't feel that way during the hellish experience.

I want to know, again, how my twin is sleeping. I want to know how he's been spending his night while I plunged in and out of consciousness during the timeless duration of my own sleep. Maybe finding out will clue me into what he's thinking and feeling. His actions in the hospital has not only reinforced my sick obsession, as my body is reflecting, but it has also made things so much more confusing for me. The web of what I know to be true tangled with unanswerable questions as to why this is happening to me has only grown more complicated.

I swing my legs over the bed lazily. My limbs still feel slightly uncooperative and the lingering haziness of sleep fogs my mind, but my thoughts are gradually becoming clearer.

I'm still wearing the clothes from earlier. Their previous looseness is a thing of the past; everything is clinging to me because I'm sticky with sweat. It makes the confines of my pants feel even more stifling. It reminds me of my prominent arousal, which hasn't wilted at all since waking. It isn't usually this persistent. It has always gone away relatively quickly, and all evidence of what happened would usually be eliminated, save for the crystal clear images still flitting through my brain.

The throbbing heat radiating strongly from my pelvic area is very difficult to ignore, but I try to push my thoughts away from it, nonetheless. I can't afford to think about it right now. I don't want to succumb to the temptation to furiously pump myself until I can't remember my own name, because I know how bittersweet my climax will be. The disgust looming over the horizon after a breathtaking orgasm—so overwhelming, so scorchingly hot in such a pleasant way—isn't worth it.

A breathy whimper escapes my lips involuntarily in response to my lewd thoughts. I realize that I'm going back on what I promised myself, about not thinking about such things. I'm making this so hard.

I stumble forward, forcefully putting my shameful thoughts in the back of my head.

I don't know why I'm so _desperate_ to find out how Hikaru is sleeping. Knowing won't benefit this situation in any way. Still, the need to know is very strong. I shouldn't even bother fighting or questioning it.

I awkwardly shuffle out of the darkness of my room into the equally dark hallway. The dry atmosphere makes it seem like everything has died—simply vanished from existence. It seems so surreal, and for a moment, I ponder the possibility that I'm dreaming. But that thought is dismissed almost immediately. I've never dreamt with such clarity before. This feels too transparent to be a dream. Hikaru isn't with me at the moment, which also attests to the fact that this is reality.

His door is slightly ajar, just like it had been the last time I'd done this.

There's an edge of paranoia that almost brings me to hesitate. The haze of lust affecting all of my senses dulls most of my inhibitions, however. I feel grateful for that, even though I know I shouldn't. Feeling this way is so much more favorable than my murderous self-disgust. I know that I'm only postponing that.

I nudge the door open as silently as I can, hoping my labored breathing isn't loud enough to alert him of my presence. It seems deafening to my own ears.

It's as dark in his room as it had been in mine. I can't see anything, except for his silhouette outlined by the moonlight leaking through the gap of the curtains. I completely freeze when I see his hunched over posture, his arms folded and resting on his knees, and his face resting on his forearms.

He couldn't possibly be sleeping in a position like that.

My breath catches in my throat. I suddenly feel lightheaded and dizzy. I dimly feel myself swaying, and instinctively, I lunge to the side to grip the door frame. My hips jut forward awkwardly in the process, hitting the door, sending it swinging to the wall. It collides with the hard plaster, accompanied with a sickening _thunk_.

Everything is happing so fast that I'm having a difficult time keeping up with all of it. The dizziness isn't making things any easier.

"_Kaoru!_" he gasps in a firm whisper. He sounds shocked and startled, understandably.

I'm horrified with myself. I had been so careless and unthinking. I'm not sure where my logic has gone, not that I really had it in the first place. But I need it back. I need something to stop me from doing things like this. It's irrational and impulsive. There is no positive outcome for this situation; I'm sure of it.

I open my tightly shut eyes, only just aware that they had been closed. Although I can't see him clearly because of the dimness of his room, I can clearly make out his mussed hair and haggard posture. His bright eyes shine in the dark. They're wide, and I know without even looking closely, he's silently questioning me.

Finally remembering to breathe, I gasp for air. It helps to dispel the dizziness slightly. Still, I don't let go of the door frame. I'm petrified. I have no idea what to do.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice a little more composed but no less quiet. It holds genuine concern that makes me want to cry in both exasperation and relief. I do neither, fortunately. I simply stay slumped against the door frame, breathing shallowly.

"Come here." he murmurs quietly.

Why is he doing this? Does he think he can help? Does he think he can comfort me like he used to, like when I had nothing to feel shame over? Doesn't he realize that has ended? I miss it, too, but I can't bring it back. He can't, either. His lingering hope is admirable, but meaningless in the end.

That's why I'm surprised when I find myself shuffling toward him. It's pointless, doing this. I know this. He _should_ know this. I think he actually does know this. So why are we trying to resuscitate something that has been long dead? It's a waste of time. It will only end in disappointment, and I know this. But I can't stop myself from approaching his welcoming presence.

The most logical solution, to run away from him, has never really been an option for me. It isn't now, and I don't think it ever will be. That's exactly why there's no ideal solution for this problem.

It's hard to discern anything in this darkness. I can't _see_ him looking at me, but I can feel it. I feel so wide open and vulnerable under his gaze. This feeling only intensifies as I draw closer and closer.

I hear him gasp suddenly, shifting, leaning closer, as if he's trying to see something in me that I can't. It makes me want to dart back into the darkness of my room, away from the shining of his eyes. But I'm confused as to what he's seeing. Not knowing makes it hard to remain still and silent as I stand directly in front of him.

He shifts again and his head tilts to the side slightly, like he's confused, too. His neck is exposed and directly in the path of the moonlight. It illuminates the smooth expanse of pale flesh. My stare travels to his protruding of his collar bone. He has nothing to cover himself, save for a pair of boxers, I realize. My stare darts upward at once, knowing it had been going places it shouldn't. I think, from what I can barely see, that his mouth is slightly agape. Watching his lips move slightly to form silent words, and watching him choke on them as he swallows thickly, makes me quiver slightly. Something blossoms in my lower stomach. It pleads for attention in harsh waves, heating my core.

It's then that I realize what the object of his astonishment is. Horror envelopes me when I think about how achingly hot my groin has become, staring at Hikaru. Anxiety curls into my demanding lust. The two feelings make me dizzy. My throat threatens to close up and my mind demands a way out of this, but I can't move. I'm rendered motionless under the freezingly hot, forcible embrace of fear and arousal.

His arm snakes across the rumbled sheets, drifting slowly toward me. I can't run from that. I can't run from that generous hand, creeping around my waist and pulling me toward my nightmare, my fantasy. His hand shakes against my quivering body. His touch is cold and instilled with fear and uncertainty. I shudder, gasp loudly, and fall gracelessly in his bed, in front of him.

I'm kneeling in front of him, so closely that I can feel his sweet breath fan over my warm face.

He says nothing for a moment. Neither of us do. He doesn't remove his grip from around my waist. The only communication between us is his hand's tender movements on the small of my back. My eyes flutter closed and I arch involuntarily. He only tightens his grip in response, so that our bodies are nearly touching. The sparks of pleasure racing up and down my spine and concentrating in the area he's touching make me forget about everything I've been so afraid of acknowledging. It just doesn't exist anymore. I wonder if it will when whatever this is implodes on itself and dies. The thought makes me grimace in revulsion, but I'm not sure why.

Those thoughts fade when he suddenly pulls me closer, flush against his bare chest. I can feel his heart thump rapidly.

I open my eyes just in time to see the inclination of his head, but I don't need sight to be aware of everything. Feeling a lock of his hair brush my cheek and the sudden tenderness on my lips—his mouth against mine—makes me aware of everything that matters.

I can feel him falling back, and I fall with him. I can understand why he can't stay upright. It's because I know how my own body feels now, with my muscles relaxed and joints weak.

I tremble against him when I feel his lips parting slowly underneath mine. I follow the movement and feel his hot breath in my mouth, my body growing more and more heated with each passing moment. His tongue is cautious, but demanding as he begins ravaging my mouth. I'm too shocked and overwhelmed to reciprocate. I just shudder and hum lowly while my eyes flutter open and closed.

I can't think of anything but this. This feeling, how his tongue curls wetly into my willing one and how his hand is traveling from my lower back to my front, where he toys with the hem of the boxers I'm wearing. I shake against him when the heat in my groin intensifies in response to his fingertips dancing on the curve of my hip. He shivers against me and groans, but doesn't break the wet kiss.

His fingers trail down further, past the band of the boxers. It isn't difficult for him because they're so loose. Those jeans—his jeans—are hanging lowly around my hips. I'm not sure when they fell so low, but I don't care. I don't care about anything at the moment except for his hand dipping lower...lower...teasing the flesh over my hip before gently grasping me in his warm hand. As his palm slides up my length without warning, I tear my lips from his in the process of bucking forward.

"Mm..._h-haaah_..." I groan loudly. My arousal throbs in his gentle grip, hopelessly desperate for more attention. His legs draw forward and wrap around me, and then go back down, taking what little I'm wearing with him. I love that, how his hands don't even have to leave me as he does this.

His other hand slides up the thin shirt I'm wearing, caressing the heated skin while simultaneously taking the clothing over my head.

I should feel vulnerable with nothing covering me, but I don't. I'm unashamed and comfortable. I don't remember where my restraints went or why I even had them in the first place, and I don't want to remember. It's a dark shadow that has been so uncomfortably close to me, but Hikaru makes me forget about its existence. He makes me feel like nothing can threaten me anymore. I'm growing addicted to that feeling, like I am with the new sensation of his hands on my most intimate places.

His hand slides up and down my arousal, cautiously, but slowly growing fervent. I moan shamelessly again, almost sobbing at the feeling of euphoria flowing through me. I don't remember ever feeling like this. This is so new and I'm so unused to it, but that doesn't make me afraid of it like it should, like I fear it will.

I'm vaguely aware of my hand clawing at the edge of his boxers. He isn't protesting. The one piece of clothing he's wearing slides down his legs, and finally, he is fully exposed.

I'm unprepared when he grinds against me. I think his hand is sliding away, but I can't be sure of anything right now. I'm only sure of how addicted I'm becoming to this, and the explosion of blinding pleasure our clashing pelvises bring.

"Oh...K-Kaoru!" he breathes, his chest heaving. His voice saying my name in such a tone makes this feel more real, and suddenly...more raw. My eyes widen when he grows more ardent. I return his movements enthusiastically, thrusting against his weeping erection and crying out as mini explosions of pleasure alight every part of my body.

His hand finds the back of my neck. His fingers are slightly wet with precum, but I don't care. He guides my head to his and our lips mesh together clumsily. The kiss is messy and wet. He sucks on my bottom lip tenderly, desperately, like we don't have much time. He nibbles at the moist flesh there, softly enough to not inflict any pain, but roughly enough to make me gasp at the shock of it.

My hand drifts up his heaving chest, almost on its own volition. But if I'm going to be honest with myself, I'm conscious of everything I'm doing right now.

He arches against me and parts his mouth in a silent scream when my hand grazes one of his nipples. It's pert and hardened, I discover, as my fingertip grazes it. I bring it between my thumb and forefinger experimentally, softly rubbing the sensitive flesh. He rocks against me in response and groans in my mouth. Feeling him shiver against me, because of me, is so gratifying. I return his urgent movements readily. I feel his name forming on my tongue, but the word stays silent. My lips are occupied with his sucking and licking.

My lungs are begging for air, so I separate my lips from his, regretfully. I can feel him gasping for air, too, inhaling and releasing a quiet whimper every few moments.

He's still breathing shallowly when his lips connect with my jaw. He kisses every inch of the flesh chastely, trailing further across my jaw and then suddenly darting to my neck. He sucks gently and then suddenly nips at the flesh. The stinging it causes is surprisingly pleasant and I release a breathy moan.

"Hika...Hikaru!" I gasp, his name finally leaving my tingling lips. It's a plea for more. I know he understands when he suddenly thrusts up against me, rougher than before. The pleasure flooding my body is sensational. We moan in unison as tremors flow through both of our quivering frames.

I can see him in the dim light the moon has provided, just barely. I'm completely transfixed, looking at his damp hair sticking up in all directions, his flushed, parted lips, and his half-lidded eyes, lust-filled, staring up into my own. Seeing him so undone shoots a pulsating spike of pleasure through body. I wonder if he sees this in me. Could I ever look so deeply alluring in such a vulnerable state? Could I ever be what he needs? Could I ever be what he is to me?

The first feelings of anxiety and inadequacy suffocates a good part of the neediness that has taken me, and still persists to take me through the magnificence of this experience.

"Kaoru..." he mumbles breathlessly. His confused tone distracts me from my troubling thoughts for a moment. I focus on his face and see a silent question lingering in his concerned eyes. How can he always tell when I'm not feeling okay? He's so attentive to me, even when I'm sure his brain is thickly muddled with deep longing.

"Kaoru," he breathes again. "don't be afraid."

_What?_ What does he mean? It has to be important because he keeps repeating it. I'm not sure what he's telling me not to be afraid of. I'm not sure of anything right now, except for the warmth the adoration in his eyes brings me. I can't remember what I was troubled over..._afraid_ of. I almost want to find out, in a sick way.

That thought is immediately abandoned when I feel his hand, grasping both of our arousals. I jolt, having been caught by surprise. I watch him, as I'm transfixed again, as his eyes cloud over in lust.

Heat begins coiling in my lower abdomen tightly. I whimper and thrust into his hand, not even sure how it's possible to comprehend what I'm feeling anymore. The friction between our bodies is pulling me apart from the inside. I'm not sure why that should feel so _good_, but it does.

I know he feels it, too, watching him writhe and gasp underneath me. Even though I know he must be feeling dizzy and uncoordinated, like I am, he continues to thrust gently every few moments. He spends most of his time pumping me instead of making sure his own needs are met.

That coiling in my lower abdomen continues to pulsate and throb, growing tighter and tighter until I become completely undone. I begin to say his name as I climax, but the sound dies on my tongue. My mouth opens in a silent scream as ecstasy washes over me. The only thing I'm aware of at the moment besides my own pleasure is his. He shudders and freezes for a moment, and then comes with me.

"Ohh! Kaoru...Kaoru!" he yells. He continues to repeat my name breathlessly, still stroking me with impassioned movements. He only stops when I collapse on top of him. I roll off, still quivering as my orgasm shakes my frame.

My name, formed so beautifully on his tongue, echos in my mind. I'm not sure if he's still yelling it or if I'm imagining it.

Reality is still lost to me, even as the euphoria begins to ebb away. It leaves drowsiness with it, though. It makes me sleepy, but not in the familiar way. I'm not exhausted. I'm just sleepy and still craving the kind of warmth I can get only from once source. Both my body and mind desire it for the comfort I yearn so deeply for. And I have it. For once, I have what I need from him.

I'm not afraid to sleep, for once, because I feel like I'll still have this when I wake up, even if I don't want it.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the shittiness of that "lemon." I'm not trying to fish for compliments, either. This is teh suck! Oh well. I wrote the majority of it right after watching The Neverending Story (not that watching it put me in the mood for writing this), which kind of fucked with me. I was in a weird state of mind when I wrote this thing. Blame that fucking...dog...dragon...thing if none of this makes any sense. Fuckin' Falcore. Fuck._

_So, anyway, I decided to update early because Spring Vacation is ending for me soon and I have testing next week, so I'll be busy and I might not update for awhile. So I put this thing together after watching Falcore sexually abuse that innocent, senile boy from that acid trip of a movie. Again: fuck._

_The chapter was kind of confusing for awhile, I think. I was trying to describe what it's like when you're like, almost awake but still asleep and still dreaming. Has that ever happened to anyone? It has happened to me. It was scary and I was freaking out. :(_

_I'm sorry I haven't replied to anyone that reviewed the last chapter yet! I will, I promise. Soon...ish. But I definitely will unless I get hit by an ice cream truck or something. Not that I challenge the authority of ice cream trucks. Never do that. It isn't wise. It is...**un**wise. Yeah._


	14. Ecotone

F o u r t e e n

_- Ecotone -_

When consciousness first visits me with its unwanted presence, I just want to go back to sleep. That's a horrible thing to wish because I know what happens when I sleep, when I dream, and how I end up feeling, because I'm feeling such a plethora of different emotions; it makes me feel insane. But I just want to sleep. I want to stop thinking about my dreams last night, and how they were so much different in clarity and sensation than ever before. I want to stop thinking about Hikaru. I want to stop thinking about the endless questions my brain feeds me.

I just want to stop _thinking_.

But, god, they just won't go away, these thoughts. And as I float closer and closer to a state of clarity as the haze of sleepiness gradually lifts, I am bombarded with more questions along the lines of the difference between reality and fantasy.

I think that maybe I'm still dreaming when I feel soft, warm flesh against my own, legs tangled with mine, and smooth sheets covering my bare form. But it doesn't feel like a dream. That's the strange part about this. His thigh hitched around my naked hip feels real, his fingers hovering near my collar bone feels real, and so does the sensation of every part of his body molded perfectly to my identical one.

I fight a shiver when I realize how close I am to him, how we're so intimately intertwined. It's a pleasant feeling. But as I should already know, pleasure almost always comes with pain.

The fear beginning to crawl through me is suddenly magnified at least tenfold when I open my eyes, irrationally wanting to both feel _and_ see. I freeze for a moment, feeling surprise completely wash over me. All that comes out is a silent gasp. It's all I can muster at the moment. That's good, though. I don't want to wake him. I _can't_ wake him; I won't. He can't see me like this. But above all else, I want to spare him of the revelation he's bound to have the moment he joins me in reality. I don't want to see him remember what I'm remembering right now. I'll be able to pick up on the presence of those memories flitting through his brain with startling clarity. He's not good at hiding things from me, not that he'd have a reason to this time. I wish he did, though. I wish I could be gullible enough to be deluded with the lies he could feed me to calm my racing heart and thoughts. Unfortunately, I don't think he could ever find it in himself to lie to me, and I don't think I could ever find it in myself to believe the contrary of something I _know_, undoubtedly, to be true.

His arms are loose around me, but it feels like his hold is almost unbearably tight. It makes me hesitant to try to wriggle away. Even if I could manage to be completely silent, I know he would wake. I know we've been in this position, or something like it, nearly all night. His body would detect something new, my absence, and he would wake up. I can't have that. I would keep him blissfully unaware of everything in his peaceful, uneventful slumber if I could, just like I would want for myself. And that desire doesn't exist simply because I cannot stand the thought of facing him today, or ever, though that is a gargantuan concern of mine. Mostly, though, I want to protect him from all the dark things life offers in the form of something beautiful.

Thinking about these things won't help calm me, but I can't stop myself. I don't think I could think of anything _but_ this, with the evidence literally wrapped around me. The only thing that keeps me from shaking, the only thing that's keeping an anxiety attack away, is the notion that Hikaru is sleeping peacefully with no recollection, at the moment, of what has taken place. I'm quite certain that he's being spared from what he doesn't deserve to face, watching his face frozen in an expression of tranquility and his body completely motionless against mine except for the slow rising and falling of his chest. The intervals at which mine does are much shorter in between breaths, but not drastically enough to alert him. He would be stirring right now if anything I'm feeling has been strong enough to surface from me outwardly and alert him of my unease.

But there's a part of me, perhaps a masochistic part—or just a part that feels more connected to him—that wants him to wake. And I'm not surprised that I think he might just be able to make me feel better. He has always done so before. Being so dependent on him like that probably isn't healthy for either of us, but I can't help it.

I detect a slight deviation in his rhythmic breaths, which trigger that in me, in response. Panic descends upon me thickly and I find it very difficult to stop from trembling. The tremors traveling through my frame will only quicken the waking process for him, but I can't stop myself. I know how close he is, watching him stir.

I begin drawing in sharp breaths, unable to manage anything else at the moment. There's no stopping this; there's no delaying it. It's coming, he's waking, and I know I can't hide from him any longer because of what has happened.

His eyes start to flutter open. I keep staring at him, oddly transfixed. It has been awhile since I've witnessed him in this vulnerable state of confusion and slight delirium, caused by the last remnants of sleep. He seems so faultless right now, so completely and pure. There's a unique beauty he possesses that I don't, that probably only I'm aware of. I'm seeing that beauty right now. It makes me feel safe, being so close to him. And I suddenly want to sob in relief, having missed this feeling so much, missed how protected and loved Hikaru has always made me feel.

I shudder against him as he shifts. Shocks of excitement erupt in me, but that doesn't quell the state of awe I'm in right now.

This feels too much like last night. The familiarity is almost comforting. It shouldn't be; god, it shouldn't be, but it is.

"Kaoru..." he mumbles softly. I shiver again when I feel his chest rumbling slightly against mine as he says my name, his voice clogged with sleep.

He begins to shift as he gains consciousness. I can feel his leg move down, against mine. I can also feel my body starting to react predictably to it. Most, if not all of my logical thoughts are wiped clear when he inadvertently rocks against me while he stirs, our hips meeting in the process. Heat pools in my groin, and suddenly, I'm trying with everything I have not to let the whimper brimming behind my lips to escape.

Hikaru suddenly makes a sound between a gasp and a whimper, his eyes shooting open.

_How exposed must I look right now?_, I wonder. Does he see the splash of color on my face? Does he feel me breathing in soft, breathless pants, or my arousal painfully close to his? I wish I could do something...just anything. But I feel frozen, suddenly overwhelmed with a deep, forbidden longing and blossoming panic at being caught in this position. I wonder why I should even care. He'd seen me in a brighter light than he ever has last night. I really have nothing else to hide. But the instinct to run away is still very real, as I've been heeding to it for some time.

Is it wrong that every part of me is trying to ignore that instinct?

I know he has caught onto the situation when his eyes fall half-lidded and his face flushes—out of embarrassment, I don't know. But I have my answer when he rocks against me again, this time very deliberately. The flush dusting his cheeks is out of longing.

"Nn..." he hums as our pelvises gently collide. The sparks of pleasure rocketing through my trembling body force me to abandon any lingering doubt keeping me from completely throwing myself into this. The oddest thing about that, though, is that I don't mourn the absence of my inhibitions. For once, I feel grateful that they're gone, and I don't care how horrible feeling that way probably is. Because right now, all that matters is this.

For some reason, when he wraps his arms around my naked back and brings me closer to him, I feel shocked. Maybe being physically distant from him for so long is making me feel a little different about this. But as much as I hate to admit it, I like this, probably more than I ever would, simply because it has been so long since we've been even remotely this close—excluding very lately, anyway. The fact that I've been allowing him into my mind and closer to me like we'd been before make me desire this, probably a lot more than normal.

When he inclines his head toward mine, I find myself excitedly anticipating what he's about to do. With what I've been wanting so badly and denying myself of right here, right in front of me, there's not a possibility that I could ever reject this. That's why I start to get frustrated when right before my lips meet his, parted in almost anxious anticipation, he stops. I look up at him, silently demanding an explanation. But I'm not prepared for the look of complete adoration he's giving me. My breath hitches. I don't think I've ever felt this important, like my life extends far outside of my physical form and into another person.

I want to tell him how this is making me feel in words, but I'm afraid that if I talk, I may shatter this...whatever _this_ is. But I think he knows. I think he knows that I'm brimming with a wealth of emotions right now, all positive for a change. The relief is staggering. I don't feel afraid anymore. I don't feel like I ever could again, with Hikaru here, just...just _being_. That's all I need, I realize. It's all I've ever needed. It was foolish of me to fight it because this is all I'll ever need. And this is all I care to want. There's a part of me that protests to this, but that part of me has only brought me to what felt like the brink of insanity. I don't want to ever feel that way again.

When his mouth descends on mine, my eyes flutter closed and I finally surrender to the pleasure and happiness I've missed so much.

I return the kiss zealously, putting everything I have in it. He rolls on top of me, and suddenly, I've never felt safer, never felt like the apocalypse could occur _right this second_ and I'd be okay with it because I know I have this moment, at least. And when I think about that, perspective doesn't mean a thing to me. This moment feels like forever.

We separate and come together again several times in quick, heated kisses. The desperate movements of our lips start to become more clumsy, especially on my part, as one of his hands at my back trail up my spine at a teasingly slow pace. His fingers finally find my hair and he pulls gently, playfully fingering locks of my mussed hair.

His other hand is trailing suggestively low, but I'm a little too delirious to pick up on what he's doing, distracted with the feeling of those gentle hands all over me and his mouth...tongue plundering my mouth...

He pulls away, and our lips separate with a soft smack. It's hard to not revel in the deep longing flowing through me right now, rousing me from any deadened state I may impossibly still be in. But I recognize the meaningful glance he shoots at me when his hand caresses my backside. I know what he's suggesting without any verbal communication on either of our parts, which is how it has been for us since I can remember. And that's when this feels a great deal more real than it had in the previous moments, like this is really happening; I'm really doing this with my brother. And even though I know I'm far beyond the point of no return—we'd both been, even before we woke up—I still feel like I can stop this if I want to, to keep it from happening and erase everything that has happened that probably shouldn't have happened between us.

When something recoils violently within me at that thought, the thought of making this seem like a distant, meaningless memory or even just a dream, heartbreakingly far from reality, I'm genuinely surprised. I'm so used to being repulsed by the idea of indulging in something I didn't even consider possible—until yesterday, anyway. But I want him closer than ever now. I don't feel like the epitome of _sin_ when I'm with him, which really shouldn't make any sense, and doesn't, but I'm strangely happy with my deeply flawed logic.

I wrap my legs around him in an equally silent answer to his question, toes curling in nervous, excited anticipation.

He releases a short, awed breath while his amber eyes widen. And then there's that look of adoration again, the one I've only recently been acquainted with, the one that literally takes my breath away and makes me feel like none of what I've been fighting so desperately means a thing.

He leans forward and places a small kiss on the corner of my mouth, softly murmuring my name against my skin in a tone that makes me tremble with lust.

And then his fingers are at my entrance, one intruding, and I can tell by how rigid he feels that he's worried. There's no helping that this feels uncomfortable. But I'm feeling contentment for the first time in what seems like forever right now, even with the discomfort, because Hikaru's still here. His lips are still against the corner of my mouth, trembling in what's probably my trademark anxiety right now, and he's still doing this as carefully as he can with what he has. This is still Hikaru, worrying about me like he always has.

Despite that comforting knowledge, I can't smother the grimace forming on my face when he adds another finger and stretches me, making me draw in a sharp, surprised breath at how _odd_ this feels.

"Sorry," he murmurs breathlessly, apologetically. I answer by shifting my head so that our lips are meshing together again. I can feel the relief in his body, relaxing against mine as he continues to prepare me slowly. The discomfort begins to get more tolerable and I throw myself into the kiss wholly, something I don't care if I'll regret later because there's a soft, comforting voice that has never been present until now that's telling me that this is okay.

His fingers suddenly brush something incredibly sensitive, sending shock waves of pleasure through me. I tear my lips from his to release a hoarse moan.

"H-Hika—oh my god..." I nearly sob unintelligibly.

"Mmm?" he hums, touching that spot again with the pad of his finger and silently asking a question with his contented, deviously curious expression. _Too much? Not enough? More?_

"Uhn—nn, _Hikaru_..." I pant, hoping he isn't expecting me to clearly indicate what I want with words. I don't think I have the ability to do that at the moment, with all my attention focused on the feelings that don't even compare to last night, and Hikaru's crumbling composure. I can see it in his flushed cheeks and the desperate longing he's staring at me with, making me feel vulnerable, but still safe enough to feel that way.

_Keep going_, I silently plead, suddenly very impatient. This is the first time in a very long while that I've felt so careless while still very aware of what the possible repercussions of this could be. I want to take advantage of feeling so at ease in Hikaru's presence. If I don't, if I let this opportunity pass me by with my current calm mindset, I don't think I could ever forgive myself.

The feeling of that pleasure ebbing as he removes his fingers makes me sag lifelessly against the bed in disappointment. I'm hoping it will cover up my sudden anxiousness. I've never been this close to anyone before. Because it's Hikaru, it makes it so much more important. We're both inexperienced. We're both going to explore this uncharted territory together, as we've always done regarding any new thing we've ever been faced with in life.

He's looking at me with a serious glint in his eyes, I realize. If I have any qualms about this, now is the time to make that clear. But I don't. I don't doubt that I want to do what we're doing, even though I know I probably should. But I'm justifiably nervous because neither of us has done this, and even though Hikaru and I have been incredibly physically close in the past, most definitely crossing platonic lines, we've never been _this_ close.

My current state of arousal is overriding my apprehension, though. I'm hopelessly addicted to this. I part my thighs further, a physical sign of acceptance. I watch him as I do this, watch his eyes grow even more ablaze with passion. It makes me more ready for this, more alive as opposed to the deadening numbness I've somehow been living with for what seems like so long. I need to feel real again, and only Hikaru can do that, whether or not he realizes it.

He doesn't avert his eyes from mine, and I don't avert mine from his, even as he slowly rocks forward and...and then he's inside me, not even fully sheathed, but it still feels like I'm being split in half, the pain is so horrible.

"Urwrrh..." he growls, temporarily distracting me from my discomfort. The intense pleasure he's feeling is evident in the fluttering of his eyes and the quivering of his body. But he doesn't move. What a challenge that must be, I think, unsuccessfully hiding the grimace of pain on my face.

He slurs something that sounds vaguely like '_sorry_' between his shallow breaths. The word isn't clear, but the meaning certainly is. I would probably be touched if I wasn't so lost in the foreign feeling of being filled like this. The pain gradually subsides to moderate discomfort. I hadn't even realized I'd tensed my muscles until unintentionally relaxinging them.

"Move," I mutter breathlessly. I almost want to smile when I see his eyes widen in childish excitement. That doe-eyed look almost makes him seem innocent, which is ironic, really, considering what he's excited about.

Another twinge of pain makes me wince just slightly, but it suddenly becomes very insignificant when Hikaru whimpers my name, sounding euphorically high. It makes my arousal throb, hearing him, feeling him, knowing he's completely consumed in raw pleasure.

As he begins to develop a rhythm—deliberately slow—I get used to the feeling, almost like my body grows more accommodating for this intrusion with each tortuously slow thrust.

I suddenly arch against him, roughly gasping his name when he hits that spot again, making me intoxicated with ecstasy.

"F-Faster...!" I hiss, sounding desperate, even to my own ears. He immediately obliges and I wrap my arms around his torso, irrationally trying to bring him closer even though he's probably about as close as he could ever physically get.

I don't realize I'm mindlessly babbling his name until his mouth captures mine, cutting off my unintentional vocalizations. The kiss is clumsy; we're both uncoordinated, being distracted by mind-blowing pleasure. But I don't care. I don't want anything neat or scripted right now.

He's nibbling at my bottom lip. He should know how favorably I respond when he does that. It intensifies everything I'm feeling, Hikaru purposefully abusing my prostate with every thrust, his tongue sensually massaging my lower lip, his body shuddering against mine.

I tighten my arms around him, my short nails digging into his back.

He releases my lip, long enough to speak, a bit brokenly.

"Kaoru...m-my Kaoru, hnn..." he groans huskily.

"Ahh—_haah_...yes..." I find myself senselessly agreeing. I can't even find myself to analyze why he used the word '_my_'. All I know is that I like it, very much, but I'm still too reserved to tell him that.

"Can I...Can I touch you, please?" he grinds out, sounding desperate, like my answer could determine how the rest of our lives play out. I know I'm just over exaggerating in my mind, though.

I'm about to tell him that he _is_ touching me, that his body seems permanently fused to mine, but he knows that, obviously. It would be rather redundant to point that out.

I'm a little confused, but I nod without hesitation, anyway. At this point, I don't think there's a place he could touch me that I wouldn't like. His fingers bring a pleasant tingling sensation wherever they touch me delicately, teasingly.

His hand distangles itself from my hair and he brings it down my back, around my hipbone, digits playfully lingering achingly close to my arousal, but never quite there. And that's when I understand how he wants to touch me. I can see it in the sultry gaze he's looking at me with that makes me tremble with desire, somehow managing to look at me steadily while thrusting into me. I don't know if I can deal with much more stimulation without passing out, honestly. I already feel close. The tight, pulsing heat in my groin is threatening to completely undo itself.

He suddenly grasps my length. I feel myself throbbing in his palm, tortuously close to release.

"Mhn! Hikaru...H-Hikaru..." I groan, unable to stop myself from senselessly repeating his name as his hand slides up and down my shaft.

"You...feel...so good." he groans breathlessly, now pumping me in sync with his thrusts.

It's his climax that throws me over the edge, feeling him release inside me, seeing those eyes close and that mouth part in a silent moan, feeling those tremors go through his body against mine.

The sheer euphoria I feel, alighting every nerve, making my whole body feel pulsing, is simply indescribable. I think I'm shouting his name again, but I can't be sure with the dull roar in my ears as I writhe on the bed and claw at his back. I'm certain that there's nothing I could experience that could ever compare to this.

The feeling that leaves me delirious with ecstasy begins to recede, as well as the haze on reality. I start to get aware of Hikaru laying limply on top of me, weak whimpers escaping his parted lips.

I sigh through my nose softly, feeling limp and weightless.

Even though it's a little hard to breathe with him on top of me like this, I don't mind as much as I probably should. Still, though, when he languidly rolls away from me, I sigh in both relief and discomfort, almost feeling like he's unnaturally far from me now.

I banish the thought immediately, embarrassed for even thinking it. But I suppose it's nothing new. I've always been dependent on him. That hasn't changed, and if I'm going to be honest with myself, I don't want it to.

Despite the fact that I admittedly like being this close to him, feeling him breathe against me, his warmth mingling with mine, I'm still a little unused to it. I feel very exposed right now, even though Hikaru has seen and felt all of me. But I think this discomfort will fade in time, because I'm feeling better than I would've ever thought possible after an experience like this.

I slide out of bed, trying to look as nonchalant as possible, but it's hard to do that with the collection of contradicting emotions I'm flooded with right now. I feel nervous and on edge, afraid that this happiness is so out of place, it has to be counterbalanced by something awful. But when I hear him call my name in a soft question, most of my anxiety melts, as it has a tendency to do when Hikaru unwittingly challenges it.

Still, I feel like I need to leave. I can't think objectively in his presence, despite how much I do enjoy it. I'm not sure how thinking about anything will help, but I feel like I need to, almost like I have to mentally vent so that I don't go insane from all of these new emotions begging to be labeled, identified as something.

I see his pair of boxers in my peripheral vision. I almost want to smirk, dryly amused, when I can't see any of _my_ clothes. But I don't have time to search for them. I shuffle to the foot of the bed where they lay, jerkily, because my legs are trembling. I still feel weak and pleasantly discomposed, as paradoxical as that may seem, from what just happened.

...It felt too incredible to be wrong.

I ignore the feeling of his questioning gaze burning into my back as I haphazardly put on the only article of clothing in sight. It feels odd. I think it may be on backwards, or maybe it's just because they're not mine. But maybe it doesn't matter. There are other things that are much more important, like sorting out what has happened even though I know that's impossible, or answering Hikaru's question that's still lingering in the air. But I can't do either of those.

I stumble out of his room, very dizzy with confusion.

* * *

It isn't hot because I have a desperate wish to be as clean as possible. That, oddly, isn't a concern of mine, even though I expected it would be. I don't feel filthy. The extreme temperature pouring on my bare flesh from the shower head, though, is supposed to take me away from the present for a moment. Maybe the stinging I'm just vaguely aware of will distract me from the obvious. I don't really want to think about any of this right now. I hate the confusion it causes.

I scrub at my flesh roughly, irritating the skin, making it raw and pink. Will that direct my thoughts elsewhere, away from Hikaru, away from how surprisingly secure he made me feel? No, I fear it won't. Nothing could numb me from those feelings, from those fresh memories that leave a tangy, bittersweet taste in my mouth. Nothing could take away the headache that's forming because of how clueless I feel.

I stand under the water, head bowed, and utterly confused as to what I want...no, I know what I want. I'm confused as to what I _should_ want. The stinging heat provides such a contrast to the water spraying through the nozzle specifically made to filter at the perfect pressure to relax its user. But I'm impossibly tense. I'm putting off finishing this and leaving the bathroom because the real danger lies outside of this bubble of safety, where I'll have to force myself to decide what I'm supposed to think about this. So I resign to staring abjectly at the bubbles swirling around the drain as they slide from my hair and pinkened skin.

I'm being selfish, dwelling on my own thoughts and feelings, even though I've been repeatedly telling myself that that's exactly what I don't want to do. I know that Hikaru is far from being passive about this, about myself, even though there's a part of me that desperately wants that to be the case. But there's also a part of me that wouldn't be able to deal with it if he were to dismiss everything that has happened.

I would feign contentment about this for Hikaru's sake as I've been trying to do until now, but luckily, I feel like I don't have to anymore. Feeling that way naturally seems so much more possible than it has in a painfully long while. It makes me mentally sigh in relief. It's certainly one thing I can seek solace in, to get away from the confusion currently plaguing me.

Things are too silent, suspiciously so, as I turn the water off. But that isn't what alarms me. It's the feeling of emptiness that I've never really felt in my home before, especially when Hikaru is present. It makes me feel cold even though I've just taken a startlingly hot shower.

I dry myself, walk out of the my bathroom, and get dressed all in a distracted manner. I'm not sure what's absorbing my attention, and not knowing makes me feel uneasy. I feel like there's something in front of my face that I'm not seeing, something vitally important.

I shiver when I feel his presence behind me. He's so quiet. He has never been this quiet, and he's never had to be. He has always been loud and sometimes even obnoxious around me because he knew he could be without being offensive. That's how comfortable we were. Are we getting that comfortable again? Is that just wishful thinking? Or is this genuine feeling of hopefulness real?

I finish putting on one of my lounge-around-the-house t-shirts on hurriedly and spin around to face him.

He looks startled in response to my sudden movement. Allowing my gaze to stray to him, for just a moment, eliminates any lingering anxiety lurking within me. I want to bring my hand up to my chest and grip the fabric of my shirt there in both surprise and relief, seeing him; I want to concentrate on calming my heart and feel for myself, underneath my sweating palm, to see if I'm succeeding.

His eyes look wild. He closes them briefly, and when they reopen, it looks as if he has composed himself, for the most part. I find myself slightly envious of his self-control, but mostly in awe of it.

"Kaoru," he suddenly murmurs, looking uneasy again. "you should eat. I'm...I'm not much of a cook, but I managed to make you some instant oatmeal."

I can detect some traces of his trademark sarcasm in his tone, and it makes me feel slightly better about things, like this is a new beginning instead of an end to everything I've ever cared about...mainly Hikaru and our unique relationship.

When I focus harder, I see that he's holding a bowl of the aforementioned oatmeal. I'm not at all hungry. Or, at least, I don't have an appetite for anything. Thinking about eating that hastily prepared meal makes my stomach churn, and I immediately shake my head no.

He looks slightly surprised and completely dejected now. And then there's a painful twinge in my chest.

"Huh? But...Kaoru, you need to eat something. Just have a little bit of—"

"No," I interrupt roughly, just wishing he would leave so that I could think deeper about all of this, so that I could stop being so damn confused. I feel like my twin knows exactly what's going on and I'm struggling to keep up, even though I'm a key player in all of this and I should know exactly what's happening, why it's happening, and what's going to happen.

"J-Just leave, okay? I'll eat la—"

"Kaoru!" he nearly shouts, causing me to flinch in surprise. "I-I'm not going to let you hide from me anymore! I've been patient, and...and understanding, because treating you any other way isn't right. What has happened doesn't have to happen again...but it happened. And you can't stop it from happening; you can't go back and make it happen any other way. It doesn't matter if you regret it or not. You can't change anything, Kaoru...except for how you feel about this. And...that's all that matters to me." he finishes, his voice wavering slightly at the end.

It's hard to absorb his words, because looking at him takes my attention away from everything. There's that wild look in his eyes again, and he isn't even bothering to hide it. He looks like _himself_ again, not withdrawn or nervous, but...like Hikaru. When did he start losing resemblance to who he used to be?

Perhaps when I did.

I can feel my face flushing, but I'm not sure why. I just know that seeing him like this is giving me a rush of...something, something other than the negative emotions I've grown accustomed to feeling.

"God, Kaoru..." he murmurs, his voice soft and quiet but containing more emotion than I've heard in a long time. I think, maybe, he's feeling how I'm feeling right now. Maybe the flush on his cheeks and the widening of his eyes indicates that I'm showing some semblance of who I used to be, too.

Because I _feel_ that way.

"You...need to eat..." he reminds me, sounding far away. The words are enough to knock me out of my daze, and then I remember why he's here in the first place.

I don't say anything. I don't nod in affirmation or shake my head to say I'm not hungry, even though I'm really not. I don't even flinch as he moves closer to me. I don't scoot away as he nears the bed and makes a move to sit on it, next to me, either. My stare never leaves his. I'm addicted to the spark of liveliness in those amber eyes. It doesn't make me feel so horrible anymore. I'm not nervous or afraid, like I probably should be. I'm excited—exhilarated—seeing him look so alive. I'm not sure what sparked it, but I don't think that matters.

I lean into his addictive warmth, feeling drunk off of it. There's a niggling in the back of my head that's telling me this probably isn't a good idea, but any apprehension is squelched when he leans toward me, too, accepting my out of character advance.

A breathy sigh escapes my lips in response the feeling of his warmth against me. I'm feeling intoxicated. I used to take this for granted, like all it was was what it appeared to be—two human beings sharing some physical closeness. But it's so much more than that to me.

I don't dwell on how odd it is that I'm uninhibitedly resting my head against his chest. There's something that's keeping me from over-thinking this.

I can't see his face anymore, but I know how he's feeling. He's relaxed against me. His heartbeat it slightly faster than normal, beating underneath his warm chest, but I know he's calm. I can feel it.

I smell the sickeningly sweet aroma of the instant oatmeal before I actually feel the warmth of it at my lips. I'm reminded of why he came here in the first place and how much it would probably mean to him if I did this simple, seemingly insignificant thing. I need sustenance. We both need reassurance. I'm not sure how to get that myself, but I know I can give him some relief, even if it's small. I'll do anything to see that spark of his old self again.

I part my lips, mostly for something Hikaru needs, not myself. The first taste of the overpoweringly sweet cinnamon sugar is unpleasant, but I welcome it, hearing Hikaru's heartbeat quicken against my cheek in what must be genuine happiness.

He hardly even gives me a chance to swallow before I'm presented with another spoonful of the detestable stuff. I obediently accept it, though, licking the spoon clean, even, slowly, because I can't muster much else at the moment.

With each spoonful, I begin to grow more tolerant of the taste and even the thick feeling it leaves in my throat every time I'm about to swallow. Eating like this again, and being so close to Hikaru gives an illusion that nothing has happened to change things irreversibly.

I begin to feel full, even though I know I haven't eaten all of it. My stomach isn't used to this much, as I've been unwittingly depriving it of nourishment lately. But I know it's enough when I reject another bite and Hikaru doesn't push it. I've sated his worry, if just temporarily.

"Thank you." he whispers so softly it gives me the impression that anything above that would shatter the atmosphere I'd be content to live in for the rest of my life.

I don't respond, even though I know _I_ should be thanking him. I just raise my head to look up at him, hoping my eyes can convey the gratefulness I feel for him right now, and not just for the oatmeal. I don't want to speak. I don't want to dirty this pure atmosphere with nervous stuttering or words that inaccurately describe how I'm feeling.

I know he knows what I'm feeling—contentment, since...I can't remember when—when I see his lips quirk slightly on the edges in a genuine smile. I want to return that smile. I feel like I actually can, truthfully. But before I can, those lips are on mine again. And then I know I don't have to smile to let him know how I feel right now. All I have to do is return this gesture. And I do, but it's different this time. I'm not lost in myself. I feel lucid enough to take note of how sticky the kiss is, with my lips slightly covered with invisible remnants of cinnamon and sugar, which what I just ate was bound to have a lot of.

I'm not sure what has changed. I can't figure that out simply from feeling his lips gently meshed with mine. When I feel the tip of that tongue gently prod my bottom lip—moist, warm, and tentative—I think I don't care to know what has changed. All I know is that something doesn't feel like a square peg in a round hole anymore. The nervousness that bubbles up within me is because of the feeling that this is a new experience, even though really, it isn't. But there's a fierce, familiar desire that used to be dormant that's flaring up in me. It used to be that if there was something I was unsure about, something unfamiliar, I would explore it with Hikaru. I want to do that right now. I want to bring back that piece of the past and make it part of the present because I feel like it's actually possible.

That's why I feel much more sure about this when I part my lips against his. My body is flooded with anxious anticipation, like I've never done this before with him. And in a way, I haven't. This is different.

My eyes flutter closed when he deepens the kiss. I sigh through my nose and lean against him heavily. I'm almost too overwhelmed to reciprocate, too full of phantom emotions that keep haunting me, telling me to pull away. But there's something even stronger, more compelling about this than that apprehension.

When he pulls away, I find myself panting, skin hot and feeling dizzy. I'm able to meet his eyes for a moment. His warm gaze is half-lidded and he's looking at me in a way that makes me tremble. I can't stare at that liquid amber gaze for long, though. It's out of my sight when he inclines his head toward me again, his lips brushing against my neck, just above my hammering pulse. My breath hitches when he begins placing gentle, open-mouthed kisses down my neck.

"Hikaru—_ah_," I groan, still a little unsure of what the appropriate response for this is. My body seems to be making the decision for me, though. I get even more lost, more breathless, when his arms wrap around my trembling form, pulling me flush against him.

He breathlessly murmurs my name against my flushed skin in between lingering kisses. Feeling his warm breath and lips against my skin makes a shiver travel through me. The pleasurable tingling of my skin makes it really hard to think, so I don't even try. But there's something else that's keeping me of thinking about the logic in this, or lack thereof. I've gone over this, reasoned why we can't do this, and I'm not heeding to any of it. The more of this—the more of him—I get, the more I want. I'd never imagined that he could make me squirm in delight instead of fear while doing this, but he can. He is.

He suddenly gets more daring, starting to gently suck at my surprisingly sensitive skin.

"_Haah_—H-Hikaru!" I gasp in surprise, involuntarily shuddering against him.

"Mm..." he hums lowly in response before he resumes that...that _thing_ he's doing with his mouth. His movements are more fervent, sucking and even licking occasionally. My nerves are sending signals to my brain, telling me how this feels really good. It keeps me from analyzing what's going on, and I'm genuinely grateful that my mind feels too muddled to think straight. I'm clear-headed enough to know that it would lead nowhere good. I'm content to just absorb all of the sensations being delivered to me, not even caring about how I'll feel about this once he stops.

I don't fight him when he gently guides me to lay on my back. It's more comfortable this way, feeling a little less imposing with how I've been leaning so heavily on him. But I get the feeling he doesn't mind that.

He's hovering over me, gazing straight into my eyes, but I don't feel intimidated by any of that. He makes me feel safe. But the adoration swimming in his eyes conjures some contradicting emotions within me. The guilt I feel belies the warmth. I'll never feel right for what I've put him through, how much I made him worry—how much I'm still making him worry. He cares for me more than himself. I've been so selfish, hardly taking into account how he has had to have been feeling, watching me waste away like this. There isn't anything I can do to take that back, no matter how much I regret it. Like Hikaru said, I can't change anything except for the way I feel about it.

But it's easier said than done, as are most things.

"I'm sorry," I tell him softly. The wavering of my voice betrays my emotions, but I don't care for once.

"Kaoru..." he whispers, bringing his hand to my face to caress my cheek. I lean into the touch greedily. I don't want to be reserved around him anymore. I can't be. Trying to distance myself was probably the worst thing I could've possibly done.

And then his mouth is on mine again, our lips moving together so tenderly, I swear the burst of warmth in my chest will never go away. This is his silent response to my vague apology, one that I know doesn't need any more words because he's showing me that he understands.

I hadn't realized how much I missed the feeling of genuine happiness until now. I cling to the feeling by letting the kiss linger much longer than normal, because now I know this elation comes with the physical closeness I've been ruthlessly depriving both myself and Hikaru of. But I have that closeness right now.

I don't think I could ever give it up again.

* * *

_A/N: I'm teh suck at writing lemons! Grr. _

_I was going to go on...but I think I'm done. With the story, I mean. Yeah, I hate myself, too. It's pretty short, but I feel kind of like my inspiration for this has run out. And if I force myself to write, I would produce shittier fan fiction than normal. Aw, fuck me. Huhuhu._

_Most of this didn't turn out how I wanted it to. Not just the chapter, though. I'm talking about the whole thing. -_- Gah. Oh well. I'm still a novice, so whatever._

_I seriously don't know if I would've ever gotten another chapter out without xBakura's lovex giving me some awesome ideas on AIM. :D That means I can't take credit for all the content in this chapter...some of it was her idea...some of it was just me being a dirty pervert. liquidity and her friend, Rachel, also helped get the creative juices going while I watched them RP on MSN. ('Twas fun!) So, thank god for that. Writer's block is gay as balls. And so am I. I'm like, The Grand Douche for not updating for so fucking long. This chapter has like, three other versions. I'm not even joking. I couldn't make up my mind with what I wanted._

_Sorry for the typos. I posted this in a hurry because I've got stuff to do right now. I hate being busy!_

_Please, no flaming, even though I know you probably want to. =/ _


	15. Allusion

_A/N: Sorry! This is the last chapter. Pinky promise. It's just that xBakura's lovex violently beat this thing out of me with her strapon (I'm kidding; more like gently coaxed this from me with her kind words of encouragement), and I thought I could write one more to sort of tie up the loose ends. Because THERE WERE LOOSE ENDS. I think there still are? I don't know. This thing isn't totally necessary if you want to understand the plot, just so you know._

_This didn't really turn out how I wanted it to, but...eh. Nothing ever really does._

_I was going to call this an epilogue, but since it's more of a chapter on its own and I don't even have a prologue, this is just a chapter. This takes place a year later, as the drivel below will mention. I tried to tone down the angst, but the mood is still pretty srsly srs. But definitely not as depressing. Just srs. Srsly. But some parts are fluffy and cliche. Not just cliche, but like, sickeningly cliche. :( I don't do fluff very well._

_Sorry in advance for the errors I probably didn't catch. -buries face in hands shamefully-_

_Oh, also:_

_http:/ /www. youtube .com/ watch? v=wZOMloBF2kY_

_^ Hilarious song about twins in love. XD I'm not surprised it's by Trey Parker._

* * *

F i f t e e n

_- Allusion -_

There's really no possible way I could avoid thinking about it, but I try not to, regardless. I can't stop thinking about this time last year, about how it felt sitting in front of this rarely used fireplace. It had felt like artificial heat, something no one else but me would probably even care about.

But it doesn't feel that way so much anymore. I don't even really know why we're sitting in front of the thing. Hikaru's body heat is warm enough, and I prefer it—something there's no use in denying.

Still, that doesn't keep me from shivering a little when I think, again, about how I'd sacrificed both of our happiness for something so foolish.

As I lean into him more fully, desperately seeking more of what I still feel irrationally deprived of, I try to make my action seem nonchalant. But I think he knows how something so small means so much to me. By now, I'm beyond caring about if my vulnerability shows around him. I almost don't mind if he thinks I'm being annoyingly needy—but I do doubt he would ever think that. I think that's exactly why I really don't care if he knows exactly what I'm thinking or feeling, as he instinctively often does. And that makes me feel more safe than anything, really.

He responds to me, almost immediately. His left arm tightens around my waist, lips simultaneously brushing my temple briefly before whispering,

"Are you okay?"

I can't answer right away. His warm breath, smelling a little fruity from the blueberry-flavored candy cane he finished only a few moments ago (What ever happened to the classic peppermint?) is making me feel slightly faint and giddy at the same time.

"Yeah, m'fine." I breathe, more out of instinct than actually feeling okay. But I really am fine, more or less. I'm just more unsettled right now than I have been in awhile because I'm remembering things I don't want to. It's hard to ignore all the things giving me memories of the chaotic mindset I was in around this time just a year ago. I still feel a great amount of guilt for putting us both through something we never had to go through to get this...this happiness, this contentment of just being together and not worrying about the ramifications of doing this anymore.

"Mm..." he hums, his chest vibrating against my form curled up against his. "I don't think I believe you."

I can tell he's trying to sound flippant, but the concern in his voice is very obvious to me. I can't blame him for being worried, but he doesn't really have a reason to be, honestly. I'm sure this feeling of anxiety and guilt will pass soon, just after this time of the year is over. And I'm not feeling nearly as bad as I know I'm capable of feeling, simply because I'm not isolating myself from Hikaru anymore.

I'm not alone. I never really was.

I can hear Mom curse rather loudly in the kitchen somewhere down the hall and Dad's low tones, probably soothing her—and probably failing. She's making dinner, something I can't remember her ever doing. That's probably why she's frustrated. Her forte is fashion, not cooking, but she's too stubborn to let the maids help her since she has already make her decision about this.

It's near the holidays and both she and Dad will be working on Christmas, so we're kind of celebrating now. Still, that doesn't make the situation any less weird. I think my mother has been trying to be more of an influence in our lives lately, but I can tell we're all feeling a little awkward about her changing her position so suddenly from being our biological mother to...well, our mom. Maybe it has something to do with the incident last year that landed me in the hospital. Maybe it affected her more than she was comfortable enough to let on. I don't really know, since it's hard to read her. But I do appreciate her efforts. She knows we're getting older. Life won't be this way forever. She can't always be out of the house, yet still feel a connection to it because Hikaru and I are here, because we won't be here forever. I'm not sure what the future holds, and she doesn't, either. So maybe she's making the best of the present. I know I am.

I'm shaken out of my thoughts when Hikaru's hand finds mine. My body goes limp against his as he laces his fingers in mine. I don't think I'll ever get used to these intimate gestures, even though I probably should be very accustomed to them by now.

"Kaoru," he mumbles lowly near my ear again. "do you want to go up to your room with me?"

It's funny how he words it, like even if I decide not to go with him, which we both know won't happen, he'd go without me, anyway—something we both know also won't happen.

I nod against his neck where my face is resting, despite feeling hesitant about complying. It isn't that difficult for me to figure out what his motives probably are. The concern in his voice is evident. I inwardly berate myself for being such an open book, but that probably isn't the problem here. Hikaru's just exceptionally good at reading me.

I shiver when he stands up, the blanket we've been wrapped in together falling off in the process. Taking away my main sources of heat like that so suddenly makes goosebumps rise on the surface of my flesh. I look to my twin immediately, instinctively turning to him for more comfort and warmth. When he returns my gaze, I know that he's feeling the same thing.

I'm okay, though. I'll be back in my comfort zone soon enough.

His hand—the one he'd just held mine with—is extended to me, palm upturned invitingly. A small smile forms on my face when I clasp his hand in mine without a second thought.

I cast a fleeting glance at the beautifully decorated Christmas tree near the frost-covered window before following Hikaru willingly.

I think the chaotic patterns of frozen condensation stuck to the glass is actually prettier than the extravagant tree right next to it, though I'm not sure why...

I'll never really understand myself, but that just makes me more glad that Hikaru does.

* * *

The suddenness of it—literally right after he shut the door—leaves me floored. His desperation is contagious. I think I've caught it through the urgent kiss he did nothing to prepare me for.

I'm usually pretty good at predicting Hikaru's actions, but I have to admit that I'm genuinely surprised and maybe a little concerned about this. I'm trying to figure out what may have motivated him to do this so suddenly and desperately, but it's kind of difficult focusing, what with the insistent kiss he has pulled me into.

He was scared just a few minutes ago. Frightened for me, probably, because of how unsettled I appeared to be. Is he dreading a repeat of what I'd foolishly put both of us through last year? Is my anxiety an indicator to him that I'm falling into what almost ruined the bond we have?

_Oh, god..._

He probably thinks I'm going to start distancing myself from him again. He wouldn't be so worried if I hadn't given him a reason to be worried in the first place. But I don't think dwelling on that will reassure Hikaru that the last thing I'd ever do is pull away from him again. It isn't enough that I feel secure for once. Only Hikaru's assurance about our situation keeps me stable, but now he's the one feeling vulnerable.

I think I understand how he has felt around me now. I feel like one simple mistake on my part could destroy things irreversibly. I have to know how to act around him right now, but it's hard because he's never like this. The unease radiating off of him is almost palpable. My chest tightens in worry for him. I'm instantly protective and desperate to calm his nerves, whatever that may take. The problem is, I'm just not quite sure what to do.

He has always seemed so secure. This is really...different. It's unnerving.

His movements are starting to become awkward, lips clumsily moving against mine. Belatedly, I realize what my lack of response must seem like to him. I can't berate myself for that right now, though. There are more important things I should be concerned about.

I respond to him tenderly, warmth settling in my stomach as I melt into his affection. I don't want to seem hesitant—just careful, because that's exactly what I am.

I can feel the stress almost literally melt off of him. His taut muscles go limp and my arms immediately wrap around his midsection to support him.

To my relief, he's starting to feel like himself again—confident and unworried. With my concern draining away, my attention is concentrated on how he's regaining control of himself. I tremble weakly as I lose myself in the sensation of his mouth and tongue gently massaging my lower lip, teeth brushing against the sensitive flesh with care not to nibble too hard, not that I think I'd care at this point.

My legs are literally trembling. I feel weak, like I might collapse at any moment. Luckily, his arms snake around my waist, right where mine are loosely on his, right before I'm sure it would no longer be a possibility for me to remain standing any longer. It's like he knows exactly when my strength runs thin. He's there to keep me standing, even if he's not too strong on his feet, himself.

He slows, lips now moving against mine languidly, but still with just as much purpose. I could prolong this with a simple suggestive touch where my fingers rest at his waist like the pleasant knot of warmth in my lower abdomen is urging me to do, but the burning curiosity and need to know if he's okay dictate my actions, and I pull back, making sure our bodies don't separate in doing so.

I'm glad when he meets my gaze immediately. He isn't hiding anything, which is something I know I'd be prone to do in a moment of even slight weakness. The unbridled relief in his half-lidded eyes puts a small smile to my face, which evokes one from him. I'm so glad his fears are quelled. He isn't one to openly show how afraid he is, so when he does show it, I'm especially worried.

I'm ashamed to think that this is probably how he felt about me last year. How could I have...?

...No, that's not important right now. Dwelling on the part of the past I hate to remember most and bringing it to the present will only dampen the mood of contentment we've just created. This moment is all that matters.

Despite the fact that it's a little difficult to speak around my quick and shallow breaths, I try to manage.

"Hikaru...wh...why?" I pant, hoping he understands what I'm asking with the short and rather pathetically assembled question. Even though I already have a fairly good idea about what caused him to act so desperate to keep me with him, I want to hear him confirm it. Maybe then, I can assure that he has nothing to worry about, honestly, even though his concern is justified by how I've acted in the past.

"I just..." he mumbles, sounding a little lost and about as breathless as I am. "I thought you seemed...out of it. Upset. And...it reminded me of how you were last year, and how nothing I tried seemed to help you. I-I couldn't do anything to make you feel better. And I..." he trials off, leaving me feeling lost and absolutely needing to hear the rest of his words. I don't care if remembering how pained he was not knowing why I had become so introverted feels like too much to handle for me. I should be able to handle it. I know most of it was my fault by trying to run from him, but I still need to know.

I need to hear him tell me...

"Tell me," I plead. "Tell me what you were going to say—what you're thinking of right now. Please."

I know my urgency is showing through my weak voice and posture, and probably even my expression, but I don't care. I don't care, because when he looks at me, his eyes soften, and I know he can't keep his thoughts to himself anymore, and that's because I need to know, even though I probably already do. But I have to hear it from his mouth. And I think he understands that.

"I thought you were falling into that again." he continues in an admirably more calm voice than before. "I thought something had happened that I couldn't save you from, and that I wouldn't be strong enough to protect you from yourself."

"That won't happen." I try to assure him in a hushed, slightly trembling tone. "I promise, it won't. But...if it did, you would be strong enough to protect me from myself."

I punctuate my statement by burying my face in his neck and placing a soft kiss on the smooth skin there. I don't know if it's appropriate to do that right now because he might be too tense to accept any form of affection from me, even if it's chaste. But my doubt is eliminated when he shivers subtly and brings his hand up to gently finger my hair, like he often does.

Exhaling shakily, he mumbles,

"I hope you're right."

* * *

"You really don't need to do this." I find myself saying, despite the fact I'm actually happily anticipating it. "Can't we do something else? I don't need to relax."

_I'm fine. _You_ need to relax,_ I think to myself. He still looks a little unsettled. He's more pale and his movements are a little more shaky than usual, I note, as I watch him pour the pinkish liquid in the swiftly filling bathtub.

"Yeah, you do. In fact, now that I think about it, you always need to relax. You should stop being so serious all the time, Kaoru, because life is very...uh, beautiful when you think about it. Or something. Sorry, I'm not good with motivational speeches."

I bite my lip to stifle a giggle as I watch my brother shake his head to himself self-deprecatingly. It's amazing how easily he can create a lighter mood. Sometimes, I'm a little envious of his ability to do that, but I'm usually just proud.

The sound of the flow of water is suddenly ceased as he turns it off, the bath apparently ready. He turns around to face me, setting the bottle of bubble bath liquid (which I really could do without) on the tiled floor, wearing an endearing crooked smile. He's a little flushed and his hair is sticking messily to his forehead, probably from the steam.

"Okay, it's—hey, why are you still dressed?" he asks, now wearing a disapproving frown. "You can't take a bath unless you're naked, obviously. Do you need help or something?"

I blush predictably. I can't keep from getting abashed when he's blunt like this, even though I should be used to it by now. I think he probably has a sadistic side that enjoys seeing me so flustered.

"No," I mutter shortly, a little offended even though I know he's being sarcastic. "I can do it on my own. I just don't understand why it's so important to you that I...'bubble my troubles away', Hikaru."

I use air quotes to try to illustrate how ridiculous I think the rather retarded phrase he used is, but from the look on his face, he either doesn't notice, or just doesn't care. I'm betting it's the latter.

"You don't understand because you're just not on the advanced level of thinking I am, so there's no use explaining it to you."

Just as I'm about to cry out indignantly to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off his face, he continues to speak in that same tone that both irritates and amuses me to no end.

"I don't want to argue with you while the water gets cold. Undress now, please."

My face floods with color again because of his bluntness. I look away from him defiantly, but begin to take off my loose house clothes, an action which basically signs off my dignity to him.

I'm not sure why I'm blushing so furiously as I start undressing, but the fact that I am makes my state of awkward embarrassment even worse. Why am I so timid around him? It isn't like I've got anything he hasn't seen before. No, it isn't that. It's just that...it starts feeling so intimate, like it is now. I'll never get used to feeling that with Hikaru. And even though it sometimes makes me feel uncomfortable, I'm genuinely grateful for the sense of how this always feels new.

I take everything off, mostly in a daze, but still alert enough to feel his stare on my bare flesh. Knowing he's watching me, even though I'd feel a little more comfortable if he didn't, makes me feel both nervous and giddy. Those emotions seem to often go hand-in-hand when it comes to Hikaru.

I finally look at him again, anxiously, just after my boxers pool around my ankles. His eyes are alight with something I can only describe as a mix of childish excitement, adoration, and anticipation. The intensity of his gaze makes my breath hitch, my own eyes widening and probably mirroring the emotions shining within his now. His expression is beckoning. I walk towards him, which isn't far, and grasp his outstretched hand in mine without hesitation.

He guides me to the bathtub like I need help, which I don't, but I accept it, anyway, because I know how much he likes to feel like I need him. I suppose I do—I know I do—but I _can_ do simple things on my own.

I want to object again to this just as I step in the mess of bubbles because I honestly don't know why he's insisting on doing everything when I can just as well prepare a bath for myself, but I stop myself. There's really nothing wrong with going along with this. And I'm not exactly being babied...just cared for.

The first thing I note is that it looks like he was a little overzealous with the bubble bath liquid. The second thing I note, as I submerge myself just a little above my shoulders, his hand still in mine, is how _perfect_ he got the water temperature.

My head lolls back and an embarrassing sound resembling a purr escapes my lips as I relax wholly and completely, seemingly against my own will.

"Told you." Hikaru suddenly whispers, his lips at the shell of my ear. It makes my skin tingle all over and I shiver at the pleasant sensation. I'm too distracted by that to reply to him, either to be mature and agree that yes, he was right about the relaxation thing, or decide that it isn't worth my pride to admit that he's right. It would be the former if I were coherent enough to speak at the moment. I don't care about sacrificing anything, pride or otherwise, if it's for Hikaru.

It takes significant self-restraint on my part to stifle a whine of agitation when his hand leaves mine. A low hum of appreciation is all that leaves my lips, though, when his hand drifts up my side slower than necessary, lingering at my hip before continuing upwards.

"Kaoru," he mumbles, adopting a serious tone. "lean forward."

I really don't want to, not because I'm questioning the sincerity of his motives, because really, he's always sincere when it comes to me. I've never doubted that. But I just feel too sluggish and lazy to do anything right now. I'd imagine this is what being close to death feels like, minus the pain that often comes with its inevitable occurrence, of course.

And then his hands are at my shoulders, one wet and one not, but both are pleasantly warm, pushing gently, guiding my unresisting body forward.

If I wasn't so bewitched by how soothing this feels—everything, from how amazing the water is to the feeling of his hands on my skin, making me unconsciously relax even more—I'd ask what he's doing, more to sate my curiosity than anything else.

He doesn't push me forward much, just enough to easily slide his hands down my back if he wanted to, and that's enough to make me swallow thickly, the heavy haze of sluggishness not really doing much to dilute my anxious excitement.

His palms push gently at my wet skin near my shoulder blades, fingers kneading the flesh below my shoulders. My eyes, half-lidded, snap open and I inhale sharply in surprise. I really shouldn't be so shocked. If I'm not mistaken, the whole purpose of me doing this is to relax, since Hikaru seems to think I need to. And what he's doing is supposed to be relaxing.

I think this is for him, too, though. He enjoys doing things like this with me...to me. I think that's how he rids himself of stress. I'm more than willing to let him do anything if it means he'll feel at ease.

So I relax against him, silently accepting whatever he wishes to do. I can hear him sigh softly in what's probably relief that I'm not resisting, not that I've done that lately. But I've definitely resisted his affections enough in the past to make up for forever.

The heals of his palms knead the muscle I hadn't been aware had been tense until now. The pressure on my flesh is firm, but not too rough, and not too soft. The tips of his fingers brush the nape of my neck lightly, teasingly. His hands are so warm and his fingers are knowing, so sure of where to exude exactly how much pressure.

"Kao_ruuu_," he trills playfully. "don't fall asleep."

My eyes snap open suddenly. I hadn't even known they were closed.

"H-Huh? Oh...sorry..." I mutter. I can feel a blush forming on my cheeks. I can only hope he doesn't see it because I'm not facing him right now.

My skin prickles when I feel his mouth at my neck, smiling against the skin.

"It's okay." he murmurs. His words hardly register; I'm too distracted by his voice. His tone is low and pleasant. It alone makes me shudder a little, not really surprised at how responsive I am to him. I wonder if I could ever make my voice sound that mellifluous. I'd better not try it. I would probably end up sounding ridiculous. But then, Hikaru might laugh, and I do really like hearing that...

I tremble involuntarily when he places a small kiss on my shoulder. He pauses for just a moment before placing a few more chaste kisses there in slow succession, eventually working his way up my neck. His lips are soft and warm and parted provocatively—a small detail that means the world to my body.

"Hnn..." I hum, head lolling back to allow him more access. He releases a breathy sigh against my flushed skin in return. His lips briefly separate from my neck, leaving me to bewail inwardly.

"Uh, Kaoru? Would it be okay if I...got in with you? It would be more...convenient, you know..." he suggests quietly.

More convenient? Well, yes, I suppose he's right. But as I've been thinking to myself, _he's_ really the one that needs to relax. He seems a little anxious today. Soaking in here will probably be good for him. I know that from experience.

I simply nod in answer, suspicious that my voice will betray exactly how in favor I am of his suggestion. No need to embarrass myself any more than I already have.

A pleased sound escapes his lips before his hands and mouth leave my skin, making me fall back against the hard texture of the bathtub.

_Goddammit..._

Trying to keep myself from whining like a little girl whose doll has been stolen, I resign to gazing at the ceiling blankly while I strain to hear him remove his clothes in what sounds like a hurry. My heart thrums in anticipation.

I think the strong scent of that pinkish bubble bath stuff is making me a little delirious. I knew he used too much. He thinks everything is dispensable because of the environment we grew up in, I guess.

I jolt suddenly when he lays his hand on my shoulder, eyes widening in surprise. Am I more skittish than usual? Can he tell?

I take my hands out of the water and grip the edges of the bathtub as leverage while I bring myself forward. I hope he gets in soon so I can put my arms back in the water, because the air is really, really cold compared to the water I'd be content to spend hours in. Fortunately, he wastes no time, and slips in unhesitatingly.

He doesn't even wait for me to get adjusted. Before I can keep up with what he's doing, his arms wrap around my torso and he coaxes me to lean into him. Even after my back meets his chest, his grip around my chest doesn't loosen at all. He almost seems...possessive, and...really desperate to keep me close. Is he still afraid that I'll pull away from him again? For once, I can't really tell what he's thinking. But I'm not going to squirm out of his grip, just in case—not that I would, even if I were confident in the emotional level-headedness he seems to be lacking at the moment.

He almost immediately begins his work on my back again, which I'm secretly grateful for. This time, feeling his hands roam my willing body seems a lot more intimate with his new position. I'm resting so close to him now, completely molded to his body. His thighs are parted to fit me against him and his breath is hitting the nape of my neck as he exhales softly.

I do my best to control my body's reactions to his touch. I figure I should just stop trying when I feel him kiss the juncture behind my ear.

"_A-Ahh_," I gasp, shivering. I'm a little ashamed for possessing such little self-restraint that I can't keep the sounds I'm making to myself, but I know he doesn't mind. He's encouraging it with the playful way he's now nibbling on the edge of my ear, making me blush and murmur his name breathlessly.

When his hands slide lower, trailing down my sides with deliberate slowness, I finally give up on stifling whatever reaction my body may have to his touch. It's too much trouble to control myself when he's touching me. He makes it impossible to feel or think of anything else but this.

He rubs the swell of my hips with the pad of his thumbs briefly before daring to touch my bare thighs. He almost makes the soft caressing seem innocent, even though I know it's probably anything but. My breathing starts growing rapid as that familiar knot of warmth forms in my lower abdomen. It almost always comes with his touch. I know he's responding to the sudden heavy atmosphere, too. I can feel his nipples peaked against my back and the acceleration of his heart through his chest.

One of his hands is stroking the inside of my thigh teasingly, making that warmth in my abdomen spread to my groin. I know he's losing his composure, feeling the slight trembling of his fingertips as they continue to tease me mercilessly.

The aching in my groin intensifies when I become aware of his own need starting to press into my lower back. I'm nearly at my wits' end. When he begins peppering lingering kisses that don't feel so chaste anymore wherever he can seem to reach—the back of my neck, my shoulders, and the shell of my ear—I finally give up.

"H-Hikaru," I growl impatiently.

"Hmm?" he hums against my skin.

Does he really want me to tell him what I want?! Is he going to make me do that to get what I need? That isn't right...

"_Hikaru_," I repeat roughly, irritation starting to make an appearance in my tone. _You know what I want_, I think, blushing furiously. _Please don't make me say it._

"Kaoru," he breathes sensually, rousing a whimper from me. "I think...you need to calm down."

He sounds about as disoriented and desirous as I feel, which only makes my need more demanding. But I force myself to try to relax, even as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest because of how close that skilled hand is to my heightening arousal.

"I _am_ calmmmm! O-Ohh..." I groan in surpirse, my protest quickly dying when he touches the tip of my arousal without warning. I almost sob in relief. I'm not sure what he gained from hearing me being so close to begging. It's probably that sadistic streak in him that gets off on getting me so bothered and desperate. If that's really all he needs for some good-natured amusement, I guess I don't care too much. But then again, I'm thinking this just after getting what I want, not in the middle of inwardly screaming my head off for it. So I'm probably a little biased. But really, there's no use in trying to form any objective views about Hikaru.

His hand slides down down my length slowly, making me nearly convulse against him as waves of pleasure consume my body. His breath becomes harsher in my ear. I can hear him breathe my name almost silently in the tone he only reserves for times like these, so I've grown to attribute it with all the feelings and sensations that come with these encounters. It makes me arch against him as my member pulses, gasping his name heatedly in return.

I start gnawing on my lip in a pathetic attempt to keep in the loud vocalizations, but my resolve instantly breaks when he begins to suck sensually at my neck, his tongue gently caressing the skin.

"Ngh—_ah_, H-Hikaru..." I gasp. He hums happily in response and completely throws himself into what he's doing, pumping me in earnest. I let out strangled moan as bliss completely overrides my senses. The pulsing and tightening in my lower stomach has me keening in delight.

His other hand, the one not touching me in my most intimate of places, stops tracing small patterns in my thigh and slides up to my chest with deliberate, torturous slowness. My torso heaves under his palm as I breathe raggedly. As his hand inches its way up, I can't help but twitch in anticipation. I'm so hyper aware of his touch. My body seems to always instinctively respond to him, accustomed to how he always reduces me to a stunned, limp heap, only mustering the strength to release a whimper every few heated moments.

I'm still too proud to allow the needy '_more_' to leave my lips, though.

I hiss when his fingers find my nipple, eyes fluttering closed for a few overwhelming moments.

I moan a garbled version of his name as he rubs the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger, thrusting into his hand as the throbbing heat in my lower stomach tightens even further. He strokes me with more ardor, if that's even possible at this point.

It's amazing to me, how this never dulls. We could do this a thousand more times and it would never feel old or repetitious. There's no limit to how addicted to it I can get. I'll always crave this with the same shameless desperation I do right now. That's why there was never any use running from it. That's how I know I don't have the strength to pull away from him. It's also how I know I don't even want the strength to pull away from him anymore.

I feel tortuously close now. I almost abandon all sense of reality when his finger slides over slit, making my head fall back on his shoulder, moaning gutturally.

"I-I'm...Hika...I'm c-close..." I babble, sounding a little senseless.

"Mm...I can tell," he breathes hotly. His voice, saturated with adoration and raw lust, is what pushes me over the edge.

The heat in my groin seems to explode to every part of my body, the tightness undoing itself, but the pleasure magnifying unimaginably. I arch forward, releasing in his hand and crying out. The throbbing in my body intensifies when his arm tightens around my torso and he starts mumbling things I can't really understand because of how gone I am, being so absorbed in the indescribable sensations being imposed on me. But I can hear him say my name multiple times in a thin whisper while he watches me, feels me, and hears me climax.

"Oh, god, Hikaru..." I mumble as I grow halfway coherent again. The shocks of ecstasy that still make me feel like I may just pass out begin to leave me, making my body slump lifelessly in Hikaru's secure arms.

When I resurface to reality, I grow aware of small kisses being placed on my throat, stretched before him conveniently, as I had thrown my head back on his shoulder a few moments before. I also grow aware of the insistent hardness between his parted thighs, poking at my lower back like I'd noticed before. He seems needier, if that's even possible.

Although reluctant to leave his arms, I pull away from him with just my determination strengthening my body weakened from my indescribable climax. I intend to do something to satiate his current state of arousal, not because I feel indebted because of what he just did for me, but simply because I want to.

His arms tighten around me in objection, leaving me unable to move away from him. Maybe he doesn't understand what I want to do for him? Wouldn't he rather let me go if he knew?

"You haven't...uh," I mumble quietly, hoping it's enough explanation. I'm certainly not as blunt about things like this as he is. I hope he understands what I mean through my pitifully vague words.

Fortunately, he doesn't ask what I mean. He must know what I'm referring to, then.

"I know. It's alright; it'll go away soon, probably. Don't worry about it. You're supposed to be the one relaxing, remember?" he explains hastily.

I'm about to point out that he's the one that needs to be relaxed today because he did seem very upset earlier, but he speaks again before I can.

"So, let's just stay here for a little longer. Not long if you don't want to, but..." he trails off, but that's okay. I know what he's thinking.

_'...but _I_ want to.'_

And then I know that he likes holding me like this just as much as I like being held like this, so I don't protest any further, even though concern for whether or not he gets what his teenage body desires still weighs heavy on my mind. He wants this more than that. If this brings him comfort and happiness, I certainly won't do anything to take that away from him.

I release a tired, contented sigh as I relax in his arms, feeling his heart flutter where my bare skin meets his chest.

I'd be a liar if I said I didn't take complete joy in these moments, too.

* * *

I'm beginning to regret forgoing clothes.

Even in bed, wrapped in my thick coverlet, I still feel freezing. I really should have dried off properly. I should have put on some warm flannel pajamas, because despite how nice the heating is in our spacious home, it's still winter, and it's still very cold.

Why was I so eager to get into bed as quickly as possible after leaving the bath? And Hikaru just followed. Now he's probably cold, too.

I shiver and try to keep myself from cursing out loud. I'm mostly trying to distract myself by focusing on my irritation rather than my worry about if he's annoyed with me for being impatient and jumping right into bed with nothing to protect us from the biting winter cold that seems to infiltrate everything this time of year, even well-insulated houses.

My eyes find his without much difficulty, as we're laying on our sides facing each other with not much space between us. If he's cold, he certainly doesn't show it, especially with how warm his eyes are. I shiver again for an entirely different reason when I return his gaze. The intensity of his stare makes me flush, feeling a little overwhelmed, but I don't look away.

I almost sigh in relief when he wraps his arms around me and draws me close to him. I must be craving his touch again. I really am insatiable...

I settle fully in his arms as he places a warm, lingering kiss to my pliant lips. I'm feeling much warmer by the time he pulls away. He breaks the comfortable silence, an amused gleam shining in his eyes as he speaks.

"Why do you still have those glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling?" he asks in an innocently inquisitive tone. I don't know why, but I instantly get defensive.

"You do, too." I quip shortly. "Why do _you_ still have them?"

He blinks, looking a little confused, and then narrows his eyes in thought. I have to admit, I like watching the myriad of emotions play on his face that betrays every feeling and probably most thoughts that flit through his mind.

He suddenly blushes, and my curiosity is immediately piqued. This just got a lot more important to me.

"I guess there's really no reason for me to keep them now," he starts, looking a little cautious, like he's picking his words carefully. "But when you stopped sleeping in my room with me last year, I decided I wanted to keep them. They reminded me of you...well, they still do. I would sometimes wonder if you kept yours for the same reason, and whether or not you did, it still helped me sleep. I don't need them anymore because we're always together now, like we've...mostly always been. I don't need a reminder of you, because I have..._you_. And...the stars really can't compare. But I guess I haven't taken them down because you haven't."

My eyes widen because of his sudden confession and the emotion saturating his voice. His feelings parallel mine, exactly. I hadn't thought very deeply about my irrational attachment to the childish things stuck to my ceiling, cracking and yellowed with age, and I'm glad I hadn't. I would have been ashamed to harbor such desperation to keep his memory close to me. But it's what we both sought out comfort from.

Instead of letting guilt overcome me as I think about last year again, I revel in the sudden feeling of being even closer to him.

I mostly remember the bitter parts of last year, but Hikaru just unwittingly gave me a memory that embodies the sweet part.

Bittersweet.

"Do you want to take them down?" he asks quietly, both his voice and eyes guarded. I'm confused and a little concerned that he's hiding whatever he's feeling, which he never does around me. But I force myself to not allow myself to get distracted by that so I can answer the seemingly frivolous question that I know is rooted to his heart.

"No," I answer honestly. Any reservations I have about exposing the most fragile parts of myself disappear when his guarded expression is replaced by one of elation. I return his smile shyly and continue speaking in a hushed voice that makes the atmosphere seem so breakable.

"You were right, when you wondered if I kept them for the same reason."

_And it's the only memory of that time that I want to hold onto,_ I think to myself. _I don't want to take that away. _

His elation turns to awe, and then relief, but not once in the transition through those emotions does his smile wane.

I relax in his embrace, feeling confident that the biting winter cold couldn't possibly reach us anymore.

* * *

_Ahh. I warned you it'd be sickeningly cliche. Shit, I'm stopping there. I'm not flaming myself again! I refuse._

_I'll whore myself out for reviews if I have to._

_..._

_Not really...don't get the wrong idea about me or anything..._

_But anyway, this is the last chapter, fer sure._


End file.
